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THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
AS A GUIDE TO 
WRITING 






THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
AS A GUIDE TO 
WRITING 

(Formerly published under the title How to Write) 


BY 

CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN, Ph.D. 

a 

PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 


Nefrr goth 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1924 

All rights reserved 


\AS 

,&v 

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Copyright, 1905, 

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1905. 

< 

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Nortooctr $re$sB 

J. 8. Cushing & Co. — Berwick <& Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 





tlTo 33ott)et 

WHO TAUGHT ME THE BIBLE 









PREFACE 


The importance of the English Bible as 
a model of style has been often felt, often 
expressed, but never, apparently, realised in 
systematic, practical application. Thus to 
apply it to the practical end of learning to 
write cannot obscure or belittle its impor¬ 
tance for other ends. Rather, the one 
should help the other, as in the study of 
the Old Testament by the writers of the 
New. But all that this book presumes to 
teach from the Bible is how to write. 

The English Bible which is a part of 
English literature is the King James trans¬ 
lation. This is the Bible that has passed 
into our literary and our common speech. 
It is what we mean when we talk of the 
style of the Bible. Therefore it is the ver¬ 
sion quoted throughout the following pages. 
Though most of these pages apply to any 


viii 


PREFACE 


good version, wherever they speak of the 
choice of words they refer to the Authorised 
Version. Where this text has been modi¬ 
fied in any least particular, the object is, not 
emendation in any sense, but merely clear¬ 
ness to modern readers. The changes are 
mainly in punctuation, in which the usage 
of the time of King James was less settled 
than ours to-day. Other changes are very 
few and very slight, and are always indi¬ 
cated. If any one of them has led to a 
misreading, correction from the more expert 
will be accepted as a favour. At the same 
time it should be evident that exegesis, as 
it is no part of the object, can make no 
material difference in the results. And the 
book is still farther from theology. It 
touches no doctrines but the doctrines of 
good writing. These, indeed, may be a 
part of morality; but they are equally sanc¬ 
tioned by all faiths. 

C. S. B. 


New Haven, 

Christmas, 1904. 


CONTENTS 


Introduction 

. 

* 

• 

fAGE 

• I 



CHAPTER 

I 



How to 

Prepare 

a Speech . 

• 

• 

• 4 



CHAPTER 

II 



How TO 

Prepare 

an Essay . 

• 

• 

• 54 



CHAPTER 

III 



How TO 

Tell a 

Story 

• 

• 

. 104 



CHAPTER 

IV 



How to 

Describe 

• 

• 

• 

. 162 

Tabular 

Index 

. 

• 

• 

• 199 

Index to 

Passages 

QUOTED OR CITED 

• 

. 201 


IX 



INTRODUCTION 

This book shows how to gain a practical 
skill. Skill in writing gives two things: 
first, better command over one's fellows; 
second, better command over oneself; that 
is, first, influence, and second, education. 
More people might gain this skill if they 
knew that the ways were open. One way 
especially ought to be more familiar. Of 
how many professional writers is it recorded 
that they learned their trade in great part 
from the English Bible ? Bunyan, of course, 
knew hardly any other book. His Pilgrim s 
Progress , which has been read by almost as 
many people as the Bible itself, came clear 
and strong in the words and ways that he 
had learned from the Bible alone. Now 
his case differs from others only in degree. 
Fifty other English men of letters have used 

B I 


2 


HOW TO WRITE 


the same means, though less largely, still, 
largely enough. 

But this handbook is not for professional 
writers. It is for plain people. Not only 
men of letters have learned from the Bible 
how to write, but men of law too, and men 
of business. In the days when books in this 
country were few, and libraries fewer, the 
one Book had to serve as guide, not only 
in religion, but also in expression. Nowa¬ 
days more people skim over fifty books and 
a thousand newspapers and magazines than 
pore over one. Does this modern habit 
seem to make men more ready in expressing 
themselves, or less ? Though the Bible is 
no longer alone on the shelf, it is still every¬ 
body’s most convenient example. Since the 
easiest of books to have at hand has been 
found in the experience of so many and so 
different men the best of models for learn¬ 
ing how to write, it cannot be set aside 
without folly. 

How are models to be used in learning to 
write ? And, practically, how is the Bible 


INTRODUCTION 


3 


to be used, not only by men of literary 
hopes to learn literary expression, but by 
plain men to learn plain expression ? The 
question has many aspects. It turns into 
many questions of detail. But practically it 
keeps coming up in four main problems: — 

1. How to fix the attention on one point . 

2. How to take hold, 

3. How to go on, 

4. How to bring home. 

To solve these problems practically from 
the Bible is the object of this book. 


CHAPTER I 

HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 

(Based on the Book of the Acts of the Apostles') 

A. HOW TO SET ABOUT PREPARING A 
SPEECH 

The great practical object of saying one’s 
mind is to lead people to do a given thing 
at a given time. The great practical way to 
do this has always been to make a speech. 
True, in our modern time of newspapers a 
great deal of this work is done by print; 
but a printed appeal, though it is wider, is 
less strong; for we all know, speakers and 
hearers alike, that no print moves us like 
the human voice. The greatest practical 
achievement of expression is still, and al¬ 
ways will be, a great message by a great 
speaker. 


4 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


5 


Now the story of the Book of the Acts 
is of various efforts on various audiences 
and by various speakers toward one sin¬ 
gle purpose — what we now commonly call 
conversion. Whatever else we may think 
of this object, we understand it. We know 
unmistakably what it is. No other purpose 
in all history has so often compelled speakers 
to single-minded speaking. Because their 
object is so clear, and so compelling upon 
them, and so common from their time to 
ours, we can study in their speeches most 
readily the means of persuasion. 


6 


HOW TO WRITE 


THE MARS’ HILL SPEECH 
(By St. Paul, to the Athenians; Acts xvii. 22) 

Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in 22 
all things ye are too superstitious. For, 23 
as I passed by and beheld your devotions, 

I found an altar with this inscription, to 
the unknown god. Whom, therefore, 
ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto 
you. God that made the world and all 24 
things therein, seeing that he is Lord of 
heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples 
made with hands, neither is worshipped 25 
with men’s hands as though he needed 
anything, seeing he giveth to all life and 
breath and all things. And (he) hath 26 
made of one blood all nations of men 
for to dwell on all the face of the 
earth, (having) determined the times be¬ 
fore appointed and the bounds of their 
habitation, that they should seek the Lord, 27 
if haply they might feel after him and find 
him — though he be not far from every 
one of us. For in him we live and move 28 
and have our being; as certain also of 
your own poets have said, For we are also 
his offspring. Forasmuch, then, as we are 29 
the offspring of God, we ought not to 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


7 


think that the Godhead is like unto gold or 
silver or stone graven by art and man’s de¬ 
vice. (And) the times of (this) ignorance 30 
God winked at, but now commandeth all 
men everywhere to repent; because he 31 
hath appointed a day in the which he will 
judge the world in righteousness by that 
man whom he hath ordained. (Of this) 
he hath given assurance unto all men in 
that he hath raised him from the dead. 


8 


HOW TO WRITE 


I. Fixing One Point 

The object of this speech is single — God 
has made a revelation of himself, clear and 
binding. The object of every good speech 
is single. The first thing for speaking is to 
know precisely what you want, and, without 
turning aside, to work for that. The gist of 
every good talk will go into one sentence. 
You propose to talk on labour troubles, on 
high schools, or good roads. Why ? Be¬ 
cause you hold : Arbitration should be com¬ 
pulsory,— Our high schools are a just 
charge on the public treasury, — Gravel 
roads are good enough for my town. Until 
you can put it into a complete sentence, you 
do not sufficiently know your object. And 
how shall you impress upon your hearers 
what is vague in your own mind ? So the 
purpose of every good speech, whether of 
five minutes or an hour, will go into one sen¬ 
tence. Until singleness of purpose is assured 
in this way, the preparation has not gone far. 
The speech is not thought through. 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


9 


Many things the apostle had to consider, 
standing there on Mars' Hill: the people, 
the place, the time; but one thing above 
all, the object. That controlled all the 
others, giving him the power of an absorbing 
idea. cc Do not speak until you have some¬ 
thing to say '' means practically. Be sure 
that all you say can be summed up in one 
sentence. For that is the practical test of 
whether you have the only sufficient warrant 
for speaking at a given time at all — being 
possessed by one idea. 

II. Taking Hold 

But it was a long way from that object of 
the apostle's to that audience. How to bring 
them there ! “For all the Athenians and 
strangers which were there spent their time 
in nothing else but either to tell or to hear 
some new thing.” As for strictly amending 
their lives to accord with divine revelation, 
he knew that was far from their thoughts. 
Very modern in many ways, they were in 
none more so than in preferring novel talk 


10 


HOW TO WRITE 


about the conduct of life to any strict prac¬ 
tice of such conduct. But they prided 
themselves on their open minds. They 
welcomed new views as stimulating and 
entertaining. They were ready to hear any¬ 
thing— anything new. All this the poor, 
unknown speaker in that ancient city square 
knew; for he knew his audience. 

That is the next thing. The first thing 
is to know your object as definitely one; 
the next thing is to know your audience. 
Knowledge of the audience is the only thing 
that tells how to take hold. When this 
apostle harangued the mob of Jews from the 
stairs (Acts xxii. i), he began: “ Men, 
brethren, and fathers, hear ye my defence.” 
When he stood before Felix (Acts xxiv. io), 
he introduced the answer to his accusers by 
words at once courteous and significant: 
“ Forasmuch as I know that thou hast been 
of many years a judge unto this nation, I 
do the more cheerfully answer for myself.” 
When he faced these curious, speculative 
Athenians, he did neither. He began neither 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


II 


with appeal nor with courtesy. He began 
with direct attack. Was it not amazing for 
a Jew to open on an audience of Greeks 
with the flat announcement: £C Ye men of 
Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are 
over-religious ” ? “ Over-religious? Too 

much religion ? ” they may well have said to 
themselves. “ We expected him to accuse 
us of too little.” It was a surprise, a shock. 
So it caught their attention and augmented 
their curiosity. 

But it was no mere shock of surprise, 
this beginning. It also had its direct bear¬ 
ing on the end. It was neither a trick nor 
a false start. It reminds us that attention 
should be caught at once, but that attention 
should at the same time be directed. The 
startling words make a distinct step, as we 
shall see, toward the goal. This becomes 
clearer as we examine the next sentence: 
“ For, as I passed by and beheld your de¬ 
votions, I found an altar with this inscrip 
tion, to the unknown god.” Here is 
another suggestion for taking hold. Begin 


12 


HOW TO WRITE 


with something familiar to the audience, 
especially with something on the spot. But 
this familiar illustration, this altar that they 
all knew, was not something outside his pur¬ 
pose, caught up to tickle their ears. It was 
to be turned to new meaning; and this new 
meaning was a vital part of his object. For 
the first word of that inscription goes far to 
sum up the first part of his speech, and the 
last word to sum up its conclusion. He is 
unknown ? Then you must know him. 
He is God ? Then you must obey him. 
“ Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, 
him declare I unto you.” The clinching 
sentence of the introduction renews the 
shock in its assertiveness and in its bold 
word “ ignorantly ” ; and at the same time 
it rebukes their easy trifling, and expresses 
the apostle’s unflinching obedience to truth. 

Taking hold of course implies keeping 
hold. Knowing the audience, and how their 
attention is to be caught and directed, implies 
remembering the audience, keeping touch 
with them; and this determines the whole 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH i$ 

tone or style. To Jewish audiences the 
apostle used Jewish history; to the super¬ 
stitious Lycaonians (Acts xiv. 15), when 
they were for worshipping his powers, the 
simplest statement of one Creator as a living 
benefactor: “ We also are men of like pas¬ 
sions with you, and preach unto you that 
ye should turn from these vanities unto the 
living God, which made heaven and earth, 
and the sea, and all things that are therein. 
In times past (he) suffered all nations to 
w T alk in their own ways. Nevertheless he 
left not himself without witness, in that he 
did good, and gave us rain from heaven, and 
fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food 
and gladness.” To the intellectual Athen¬ 
ians he put much the same message into 
very close reasoning. A despised Jew, he 
opened as a broad, philosophical considera¬ 
tion the brotherhood of man; and at the 
same time showed his intellectual kinship 
with them by quoting one of their poets. 
All through we feel the tone or style as 
adapted to the audience, and yet, as in the 


H 


HOW TO WRITE 


way of beginning, adapted without unmanly 
or insincere concession. For if the tone 
should be that of your audience, it must still 
remain that of yourself, or you will not be 
worth hearing at all. In short, take hold 
means: Know your audience; catch their 
attention at once, but at the same time direct 
it at once toward your end ; by appeal to 
something familiar and by suiting your style 
to your hearers, adapt yourself, but let the 
something familiar be also significant, and 
let the adaptation be without concession. 

III. Going On 

Both fixing one point and taking hold 
imply preparation. When they come on 
the spur of the moment it is only to speakers 
that by long practice can seize them at once, 
or who choose a topic already thought out. 
Still more is preparation necessary for going 
on. The idea that a flow of words worth 
hearing comes from mere gift of gab is 
mainly wrong. Ease, freedom to watch 
the audience, seeing whether they under- 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 15 

stand and follow, leading their feeling as 
well as their thought, come, not when the 
•speaker has to beat his brains for the next 
thing, but when he cannot forget what the 
next thing is, and the next, and the next, 
because he has them arranged in his head. 
And to the audience a speech seems to flow 
naturally when one thing leads to another, 
when it has what we call a line of thought. 
Now few of us think offhand in lines — 
none of us without much practice in think¬ 
ing on our feet, none of us very often even 
then. A line of thought comes from putting 
a great deal of disorderly thinking into order. 
We reject this, decide to put first, perhaps, 
what we thought of second, to put last, as the 
main point, what we thought of first. Very 
likely we assure ourselves by jotting down 
notes, making an outline or plan. At any 
rate, whether written or unwritten, the plan 
must be there before the speech will go on. 

For a plan is nothing more than an ordi¬ 
nary precaution against rambling in speech as 
we ramble in our first thoughts. If you 


16 HOW TO WRITE 

ramble aloud before an audience, be sure 
their minds will ramble, too — in different 
directions. If, on the contrary, you succeed 
in holding them to your thought and feeling, 
if they follow you, it will be largely because 
you have thought out and tested a line that 
compels them to follow. The words may 
come offhand, but not the order of ideas, 
or rather not unless there is already an 
order of ideas. What makes speeches halt 
is never so much lack of just the right word 
as it is lack of a plan to show what should 
come next. 

There is the rub — the labour, the revision, 
days of work, perhaps, for what can at last 
be put down on a little card, or need not be 
put down at all because it is so simple and 
natural. It ought to be simple and natu¬ 
ral ; and it will not be unless it is made 
so. Follow the order of this Mars’ Hill 
speech: — 

(1) Your approach toward God is unen¬ 
lightened. 

(2) God is the Creator. 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


1 / 


(3) God has created all men to seek him. 

(4^ We must all seek him as his creatures. 

(5) Therefore we are not free to use the 
symbols of half-knowledge. 

(6) For God, having revealed himself, 
holds us responsible to act in conformity with 
his revelation. 

(7) And this binding revelation of God as 
Lord of life is in the risen Man. 

That seems simple and natural because it 
is well thought out. 

And it really goes on. It does not merely 
go through a list of things which might be 
gone through in another order. To change 
the order would be to spoil the speech. 
The order is vital. Each point leads toward 
the next and, through the next, toward the 
end. Nothing is said about the order; 
there is no “ first/* “ secondly/* “ thirdly **; 
but we cannot escape it. It takes us along. 
This is what is meant by “line of thought/* 
“ chain of proof/* “ steps in the argument.’* 
All those common phrases mean one thing, 
—a prepared connection of thought. 


18 HOW TO WRITE 

Indeed, the order of thoughts may be as 
important as the thoughts themselves. Each 
of the thoughts of this speech comes out 
more sharply because of the thought next to 
it, because of its connection. And the whole 
speech seems not so much like thought 
added to thought as like thought multiplied 
by thought. So the best speeches have an 
order that increases their force as they go 
on. 

IV. Bringing Home 

The outline above shows how the Mars’ 
Hill speech went on, not how it went home. 
No mere summary of the order, however 
strong that order may be, can express how 
the speaker felt, how he moved his audience 
to feel. A speech means a living personality 
felt by hearers in a living world of men. It 
is never merely a nice set of propositions. 
It must be felt humanly, or it fails as a 
speech. What part of the speech before 
Agrippa (Acts xxvi) is most easily recalled ? 
“ I would to God that not only thou, but 
also all that hear me this day, were both 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 19 

almost and altogether such as I am — 
except these bonds.” Why ? Because we 
feel so humanly that glance at the gyves, 
seeming almost to see it. Now when a 
speaker gives his audience something to see, 
he helps them to feel with him. This 
speech, like many others in the Bible and 
out, has to touch on matters abstract. To 
state the abstract in clear order might be 
enough for the reading of pure intellects; it 
is not enough for the hearing of men and 
women. The audience might, perhaps, un¬ 
derstand ; but it might not care. Indeed, it 
is doubtful if we commonly even understand 
until we feel. 

So the speeches of the Bible, being of 
real men to real men, take great pains to win 
sympathy. That is persuasion; not mere 
reasoning, for we are not mere reasoners ; not 
mere feeling either, for we are not mere sav¬ 
ages ; but both together, and one through the 
other. Sometimes, indeed, a speech may ap¬ 
peal only to one. The rebuke of King David 
by the prophet Nathan (2 Samuel xii) was 


20 


HOW TO WRITE 


simply a piteous story to move the king’s 
generous anger against a cruel wrong, and 
then a sudden charging of that wrong upon 
the king himself-—“ Thou art the man.” 
The case was exceptional and extreme. 
David was a good man suddenly perverted 
by blinding passion. He needed no logic, no 
proof. His mind knew ; but his body had re¬ 
belled. Usually, every speech needs both the 
reasoning and the feeling to drive it home. 

Now the feeling is touched, the abstract 
is livened, as has been hinted, by using 
words that put us in the speaker’s place. 
We feel with him when we seem to see and 
hear, to smell and taste, with him. “ The 
poor man,” said Nathan, “ had nothing save 
one little ewe lamb ... it grew up with 
him and with his children ; it did eat of his 
own meat, and drank of his own cup, and 
lay in his bosom.” We see it. The con¬ 
crete details put a picture before our eyes. 
Now to be as pictorial as that does not 
always suit the case; but any case usually 
demands at least something of that sort. 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


21 


For the pastoral Jewish king a parable was 
enough in itself; for the sceptical Greeks 
on Mars’ Hill it would not have been 
enough ; but something of the sort was 
used. Some illustration, much expression of 
abstract ideas in concrete language, he used 
even to them, and to other audiences much 
more. His text was the altar out there, 
with its inscription that they had seen. 
His language, like the habitual language of 
the great preaching Hebrew prophets, was 
not mere scientific precision, but lively 
imagery: cc dwelleth not in temples made 
with hands,” cc made of one blood all na¬ 
tions,” cc if haply they might feel after him,” 
“ gold or silver or stone.” Much more of 
this sort he may well have said; for what we 
have here seems rather a full summary than 
a full report. The record of St. Stephen’s 
speech (Acts vii) sounds like a verbatim re¬ 
port ; the record of this speech of St. Paul 
sounds more like a digest. And the differ¬ 
ence is precisely in this matter of bringing 
home. 


22 


HOW TO WRITE 


The point will be clearer from othet 
speeches, less intellectual and less condensed, 
quoted on later pages. Meantime it is clear 
why so many speeches make large use of 
stories and description. It is because thus 
they can arouse feeling, can make an audi¬ 
ence not merely comprehend, but sympa¬ 
thise, can bring the point home. The 
speech of the young martyr Stephen (Acts 
vii) is almost entirely narrative, not story 
merely to please the imagination, but history 
so presented as to make the imagination 
plead as well as the reason. The great fig¬ 
ure of Moses, type to his audience of Jew¬ 
ish law and Jewish history, he held up in 
vital significance, that he might passionately 
apply it to the fundamental relations of di¬ 
vine plan to human conduct. The passion 
would not have been so moving if it had not 
called up picture after picture. Very similar 
in method is St. Paul’s speech on the stairs 
(Acts xxii); and his speech before Agrippa 
(Acts xxvi) is not only narrative, but narra¬ 
tive about himself. 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


23 


But before drawing other lessons from the 
use of narrative in speeches, it is important 
to observe in this Mars’ Hill speech some¬ 
thing else about bringing home. Bringing 
home is also application ; in other words, it 
is a way of closing which (1) applies the point 
(2) to the hearers. The conclusion is not 
merely that God has indeed revealed him¬ 
self, but that these Athenians, like every one 
else, will be judged accordingly. The clos¬ 
ing reference to the resurrection is not merely 
a great general argument; it touches on the 
speculation of some of the most rapt and 
daring of Greek philosophers, especially Soc¬ 
rates. And, like Socrates, the apostle urges 
its strict bearing on conduct — “now com- 
mandeth all men everywhere to repent.” To 
bring a speech home is so to close it that the 
audience feels its point as something for 
them to do. They see that the close is the 
point, the result of the whole. They see 
that it follows. But, more than this, they 
feel that they themselves have followed, and 
that the point is for them. They may re- 



24 


HOW TO WRITE 


fuse it; they may balk (“ When they heard 
of the resurrection of the dead, some mocked; 
and others said. We will hear thee again of 
this ”); but they know clearly what it is, and 
feel that it is for them. To bring a speech 
home to an audience, then, is to win their 
sympathy all through it, and at the end to 
apply it to their own conduct. 

B. WHAT A SPEECH CONSISTS OF 

The two things that go to make up most 
speeches are seen quite simply in St. Peter’s 
speech to the council (Acts xi). cc When 
Peter was come up to Jerusalem, they that 
were of the circumcision contended with him > 
saying, Thou wentest in to men uncircum¬ 
cised, and didst eat with them.” So St. 
Peter made his defence, first by telling the 
facts — “ I was in the city of Joppa praying,” 
etc.; secondly, by arguing from these facts — 
“ Forasmuch, then, as God gave them the 
like gift as he did unto us . . . what was I 
that I could withstand God ? ” Statement of 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 2$ 

the facts, argument from the facts, these two 
things lie at the bottom of most speeches. 
They may be done variously; they may be 
variously combined. In this speech of St. 
Peters they are quite separate; in St. Paul’s 
Mars’ Hill speech they can hardly be distin¬ 
guished. But, in whatever form, both are 
usually essential. 

I. Statement of Facts 

St. Peter’s statement, though at first it 
seems merely simple narrative, has another 
merit. It is very concise. It is brought 
within two or three minutes by omitting 
details that do not bear on the point. A 
fuller narrative of these same events is given 
in the preceding chapter. In the speech here 
the apostle confines himself to what bears on 
the issue between himself and his accusers. 
He is very carefully accurate; he neither 
overstates nor understates ; but at the same 
time he makes his statement an introduction 
to his argument. And this he does, not only 
by omitting, but by stressing. His argu- 



2 6 


HOW TO WRITE 


ment is single and simple — “ I obeyed a 
new revelation.” It goes into one verse. 
But all through his preceding statement he 
is preparing for this argument by so telling 
the facts as to show the hand of God. 
His statement is almost argument enough. 
Now though the statement of facts rarely 
does so much of the whole work of a speech, 
its effectiveness always depends on these 
same qualities : (i) simple clearness, (2) accu¬ 
racy, (3) conciseness, (4) direction toward the 
end of the argument. 

The speech of St. Paul in the synagogue 
at Antioch in Pisidia (Acts xiii. 16-41) 
shows these points more fully and at the 
same time more variously. 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


27 


SPEECH OF ST. PAUL TO THE JEWS IN THE 
SYNAGOGUE AT ANTIOCH IN PISIDIA 

Men of Israel, and ye that fear God, 16 
give audience. The God of this people 17 
of Israel chose our fathers, and exalted 
the people when they dwelt as strangers 
in the land of Egypt; and with an high 
arm brought he them out of it. And 18 
about the time of forty years suffered he 
their manners in the wilderness. And 19 
when he had destroyed seven nations in 
the land of Chanaan, he divided their land 
to them by lot. And after that he gave 20 
unto them judges about the space of four 
hundred and fifty years, until Samuel the 
Prophet. And afterward they desired a 21 
king; and God gave unto them Saul the 
son of Cis, a man of the tribe of Benjamin, 
by the space of forty years. And when 22 
he had removed him, he raised up unto 
them David to be their king; to whom 
also he gave testimony, and said, I have 
found David the son of Jesse, a man after 
mine own heart, which shall fulfil all my 
will. Of this man’s seed hath God 23 
according to his promise raised unto Israel 
a Saviour, Jesus, when John had first 24 



28 


HOW TO WRITE 


preached before his coming the baptism 
of repentance to all the people of Israel. 
And as John fulfilled his course, he said, 25 
Whom think ye that I am ? I am not he. 
But, behold, there cometh one after me 
whose shoes of his feet I am not worthy 
to loose. 

Men and brethren, children of the stock 26 
of Abraham, and whosoever among you 
feareth God, to you is the word of this 
salvation sent. For they that dwell at 27 
Jerusalem, and their rulers, because they 
knew him not, nor yet the voices of the 
prophets which are read every sabbath 
day, (they) have fulfilled them in con¬ 
demning him. And though they found 28 
no cause of death in him, yet desired they 
Pilate that he should be slain. And when 29 
they had fulfilled all that was written of 
him, they took him down from the tree, 
and laid him in a sepulchre. But God 30 
raised him from the dead. And he was 31 
seen many days of them which came up 
with him from Galilee to Jerusalem, who 
are his witnesses unto the people. And 32 
we declare unto you glad tidings, how 
that the promise which was made unto 
the fathers God hath fulfilled (the same) 33 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


unto us their children, in that he hath 
raised up Jesus again ; as it is also written 
in the second psalm, Thou art my Son ; 
this day have I begotten thee. And as 34 
concerning that he raised him up from the 
dead, now no more to return to corruption, 
he said on this wise, I will give you the 
sure mercies of David. Wherefore he 35 
saith also in another psalm, Thou shalt 
not suffer thine Holy One to see corrup¬ 
tion. For David, after he had served his 36 
own generation by the will of God, fell 
on sleep, and was laid unto his fathers, 
and saw corruption. But he whom God 37 
raised again saw no corruption. 

Be it known unto you therefore, men 38 
and brethren, that through this man is 
preached unto you the forgiveness of sins. 
And by him all that believe are justified 39 
from all things, from which ye could not 
be justified by the law of Moses. Beware, 40 
therefore, lest that come upon you which 
is spoken of in the prophets : Behold, ye 41 
despisers, and wonder, and perish; for I 
work a work in your days, a work which 
ye shall in no wise believe, though a man 
declare it unto you. 




30 


HOW TO WRITE 


In order to examine more closely the 
force of the statement in this speech, and 
also to assist the review that should be 
made through it of the lessons drawn from 
the Mars’ Hill speech, hints are added here 
for an outline. These should be expanded 
into a careful outline in sentences like the 
one on page 16. 

HINTS FOR AN OUTLINE 
The Meaning of Jewish History and Prophecy 

(1) Statement of facts (17-25), summary of 

Jewish history. 

(2) Direct personal appeal to the vital con¬ 

cern of the audience as children of the 
prophets (26). 

(3) Appeal from their present leaders as per¬ 

verted by ignorance and hardness of 
heart (27-29). 

(4) As against this ignoring, testimony to 

the fact of the resurrection (30, 31). 

(5) General application of this fact as a joyous 

fulfilment of Jewish history (32, 33). 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 31 

(6) Citation of authority for this interpreta- 

tion (33-37); 

(7) Particular application to what his hearers 

should therefore do, by warning against 
the error to which their history had 
shown them most liable — despising 
the revelation of God. 

Note in review that the order is just as 
logical, just as progressive from point to 
point, as in the Mars' Hill speech. The 
apostle was speaking to a less intellectual 
audience of provincial Jews. His method 
was more historical because to these men 
that would be more appealing than the gen¬ 
eral philosophical ideas that he put before 
the Athenians. The object is the same. 
The aim of all St. Paul's speeches is, Repent. 
The application is of the Hebrew prophets 
to these particular Hebrews. 

Now to go on with the statement of 
facts, the facts here were familiar. They 
had been told and retold in the Jewish his¬ 
torical scriptures, rehearsed and applied over 


32 


HOW TO WR/TE 


and over again in well-known psalms and 
prophecies. As each man in the synagogue, 
according to custom, might select from this 
familiar store something for comment, the 
apostle was free to select. But his selection, 
brief as he made it, is complete for its pur¬ 
pose. It is complete from one point of 
view. It exhibits vividly the continuity and 
the progress of the divine revelation through 
chosen men — the chosen nation, the judges, 
the king desired by the people, the king 
chosen of God, the promised Saviour of his 
lineage, the forerunner preaching the prepara¬ 
tion of repentance. Compare with this the 
much longer statement (Acts vii) made for a 
similar purpose by St. Stephen. St. Paul’s 
is the more concise; but both select from 
the long story what is vital to the one pur¬ 
pose of the one speech. 

To his rapid summary of the general trend 
of undisputed history the speaker immedi¬ 
ately joins the recent events that were in 
dispute, that in fact made the very issue. 
There is no break between his statement and 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


33 


his argument. One is led straight into the 
other. The statement, indeed, like St. 
Peter’s, is itself argumentative. Statement 
and argument alike aim to show the culmina¬ 
tion of history in the Messiah. Yet the 
statement remains fairly a statement. The 
hearers are left to make their own inferences 
up to the climax of the line of instances. 
John the Baptist is meant to be thought of 
as the last of this line of forerunners ; but 
the hearers are left to think that for them¬ 
selves. Just before, the apostle asserts the 
final fulfilment. Adding the testimony of 
the voice crying in the wilderness, he seems 
to pause at that moment of suspense, and 
then to break in with the direct appeal: 
“ Men and brethren, children of the stock 
of Abraham, and whosoever among you fear- 
eth God, to you is the word of this salvation 
sent.” At the same moment the statement 
is brought to a climax and the direct argu¬ 
ment is begun. 





34 


HOW TO WRITE 


II. Argument or Proof 

It is plain from the outline that the speaker 
is trying to make his hearers accept a certain 
interpretation of their national history and 
act upon it. “ Our history/’ he is urging, 
“ has culminated in the Messiah. Purge 
yourselves to follow him.” Trying first to 
make them feel what the facts meant to them, 
— “ to you is the word of this salvation 
sent,” — he then begins his direct argument 
by meeting an objection. Their rulers had 
rejected Jesus. But that, says the apostle, 
does not prove that he was not the Messiah; 
for it is just what the old prophets foretold, 
and it is just the mistake that we have been 
making throughout our history — not recog¬ 
nising the evident voice of God. The very 
manner of his death was as it was written. 
Moreover, either their judgment or their 
sincerity was at fault; for they urged his> 
death in spite of his evident innocence. 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


35 


(a) TEST OF THE BEARING OF ARGUMENTS 

So the first main argument amounts to 
this : — 

The rejection of the rulers does not viti¬ 
ate the Messiahship of Jesus. 

1. For it fulfilled prophecy. 

2 . For it was either blind or jealous. 

(a) For the prophetic signs were 

plain in him. 

( b ) For they found no cause of death 

in him. 

Here is a very convenient device for see¬ 
ing exactly what an argument amounts to. 
Set down in a sentence the point to be 
proved or disproved. Set down beneath, 
each in a sentence, the points used to prove 
or disprove it; and beneath any of these the 
points used to prove or disprove them. The 
device may be made quite simple, or, by 
putting in all the minor points, very elaborate. 
Carried out for a whole speech, by writing 
the point of the whole at the top, under that 


36 


HOW TO WRITE 


the main points in direct proof of that, under 
each of these the points in proof of them, 
and so on, it may be made a complete chart 
or skeleton. When the argument is at all 
complicated, such a chart is often used in 
preparation, to avoid crookedness or confu¬ 
sion. 

The apostle’s first argument is negative. 
It is a reply to a probable objection. It is 
what is often called rebuttal. His next 
argument is positive : “ God raised him from 
the dead.” We apostles are witnesses of 
this great fact. Then, affirming directly and 
reenforcing the argument implied in his pre¬ 
liminary statement, he argued thirdly that this 
resurrection was the crowning fulfilment of 
prophecy, by citing the prophets to support 
him. The rest of the speech is application. 
A complete chart would be like this: — 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


37 


CHART OR BRIEF OF ST. PAUl/s ARGUMENT 
AT ANTIOCH 

Obey Jesus as the Messiah 

(A. Statement offacts.) 

B. For the rejection of the rulers does not 

vitiate his claim 

1. For this very rejection fulfilled 

prophecy. 

2. For it was either blind or jealous. 
[a) For it ignored the evident pro¬ 
phetic signs in him. 

( h ) For his conviction had no law¬ 
ful ground. 

C. For God raised him from the dead. 

I. For <c he was seen many days ” after 
his death by his disciples. 

( a ) For these disciples are con¬ 
stantly testifying in public to 
this fact. 

D. For his resurrection fulfils Messianic 

prophecy. 

I. For prophecy announces the Me,s 
siah as divine. 


38 


HOW TO WRITE 


(a) For the second psalm speaks 
of him as the Son of God. 

2. For prophecy specifically foretells 
his resurrection. 

(a) For another psalm says, “ Thou 

shalt not suffer thine Holy 
One to see corruption.” 

(b) And this cannot refer to David, 
i. For David saw corruption. 

(E. Application .) 

(J?) THE MAIN WAYS OF ARGUING 

The chart or brief shows what the argu¬ 
ments are, and how they depend one on 
another. It is worth while to observe fur¬ 
ther that they all follow one or the other of 
two ways of arguing: (i) argument from 
the general store of previous knowledge, 
( 2 ) argument from particular evidence as to 
the case in hand. For these are the two 
fundamental ways of reasoning. The former, 
argument from previous knowledge and re¬ 
flection, is called deductive (in Latin, a 
priori ); the latter, argument from investiga- 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


39 


tion, is called inductive. Both these ways 
of reasoning are good; both are commonly 
necessary. Which shall have the preference 
in a given case depends on that case and that 
audience. The apostle here spent most of 
his time on the former, probably because he 
knew that his audience needed less to have 
the facts further established by testimony 
than to feel the relation of these facts to the 
principles and views of history that they 
already held. He seems to feel that his 
opportunity was less to make them admit 
certain facts than to make them feel the 
significance. 

In his application the apostle uses a par¬ 
ticular kind of deductive reasoning. Your 
ancestors, he says, fell again and again into 
one great error. They failed again and 
again to recognise and obey God’s spokes¬ 
men to them. Therefore your great danger 
is likely to be the same. “ Beware, there¬ 
fore, lest that come upon you.” This way 
is called argument by analogy. It is found 
in other parts of this speech. 


40 


HOW TO WRITE 


Deduction, induction, analogy — it is not 
at all important to remember these technical 
terms of logic. What is important is in 
preparation to try all these ways, and to use 
most what seems most apt to the purpose 
and the audience. See what use you can 
make of deductive reasoning from the general 
ideas, beliefs, and principles held by your 
audience; to what extent you must establish 
by inductive proof the necessary and vital 
facts; and whether by analogy you can 
effectively argue from history. 

C. HOW TO DEBATE 

As often as not, a speech is a reply to 
another speech. This does not make it 
essentially different; but it does demand a 
special skill. A debater, after all, has a 
speech to make ; but he cannot make it as 
he would by himself. He has to gauge it, 
not merely to the way in which the subject 
will probably be viewed by the audience, but 
to the way in which the subject has actually 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


41 


been viewed by an opponent. Therefore a 
good deal of the form must be adopted off¬ 
hand. Not the arguments, — for the prep¬ 
aration must cover every point that an oppo¬ 
nent can fairly bring forward, — but the stress 
that is laid on this one or that, and sometimes 
the order. There is no use in proving what 
your adversary has chosen to admit — or to 
omit. You must meet him, so far as pos¬ 
sible, on his own ground. There is no use 
in keeping the order you planned before¬ 
hand, if your adversary’s speech gives you a 
chance to make an effective change. Success 
in debate, indeed, depends largely on meeting 
opportunities. 

I. Meeting the Opportunity 

Rebutting the charges of the Sanhedrin 
(Acts xxiii. 6), “ When Paul perceived that 
the one part were Sadducees and the other 
Pharisees, he cried out in the council, Men 
and brethren, I am a Pharisee, the son of a 
Pharisee. Of the hope and resurrection of the 
dead I am called in question . And when he had 



42 


HOW TO WRITE 


so said, there arose a dissension between the 
Pharisees and the Sadducees ; and the mul¬ 
titude was divided. For the Sadducees say 
that there is no resurrection, neither angel 
nor spirit; but the Pharisees confess both. 
And there arose a great cry; and the scribes 
that were of the Pharisees’ part arose and 
strove, saying, We find no evil in this man; 
but if a spirit or an angel hath spoken to 
him, let us not fight against God.” The 
apostle did not abandon his plan of pleading 
“ the hope and resurrection of the dead ” ; 
but he suddenly changed his method to seize 
an opportunity. 

II. Challenging Assertions of Fact 

All rebuttal, said a wise man, reduces it¬ 
self to two questions: (i) How do you know? 
(2) What of it? In other words, a reply in 
debate, as in any other discussion, first seizes 
on any statement of facts that demands bet¬ 
ter evidence; and secondly seizes on any 
crookedness in the reasoning from those 
facts. In still other words, a speech may be 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


43 


weak either in its premises or in its conclu¬ 
sions, or perhaps in both. Unwarranted as¬ 
sertions may be made, whether carelessly or 
maliciously ; and from even warranted asser¬ 
tions unwarranted arguments may be drawn. 
The watchful debater has his eyes wide open 
for either ; for thus only can he be sure of 
the two things (page 24) of which a speech 
is made. 

The charges and defence just quoted in 
part did not rest there. The case was re¬ 
ferred by the chief Roman captain, Claudius 
Lysias, to the Roman provincial governor, 
Felix (Acts xxiv). 




44 


HOW TO WRITE 


TRIAL OF ST. PAUL BEFORE FELIX 

And after five days Ananias the high i 
priest descended with the elders, and with 
a certain orator named Tertullus, who in¬ 
formed the governor against Paul. And a 
when he was called forth, Tertullus began 
to accuse him, saying, Seeing that by thee 
we enjoy great quietness, and that very 
worthy deeds are done unto this nation by 
thy providence, we accept it always, and 3 
in all places, most noble Felix, with all 
thankfulness. Notwithstanding, that I be 4 
not further tedious unto thee, I pray thee 
that thou wouldest hear us of thy clemency 
a few words. For we have found this man s 
a pestilent fellow, and a mover of sedition 
among all the Jews throughout the world, 
and a ringleader of the sect of the Naza- 
renes. (He) also hath gone about to pro- 6 
fane the temple. (Him) we took, and 
would have judged according to our law. 
But the chief captain Lysias came upon 7 
us, and with great violence took him away 
out of our hands, commanding his accusers 8 
to come unto thee. By examining of (them) 
thyself mayest take knowledge of all these 
things whereof we accuse him. 



HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 45 


And the Jews also assented, saying that 9 
these things were so. Then Paul, after 10 
that the governor had beckoned unto him 
to speak, answered : — 

Forasmuch as I know that thou hast 
been of many years a judge unto this na¬ 
tion, I do the more cheerfully answer for 
myself; because that thou mayest under- n 
stand that there are yet but twelve days 
since I went up to Jerusalem for to wor¬ 
ship. And they neither found me in the 12 
temple disputing with any man, neither 
raising up the people, neither in the syna¬ 
gogues, nor in the city. Neither can they 13 
prove the things whereof they now accuse 
me. But this I confess unto thee, that 14 
after the way which they call heresy so 
worship I the God of my fathers, believing 
all things which are written in the law and 
in the prophets; and have hope toward 15 
God, which they themselves also allow, 
that there shall be a resurrection of the 
dead, both of the just and unjust. And 16 
herein do I exercise myself, to have always 
a conscience void of offence toward God 
and toward men. Now after many years 17 
I came to bring alms to my nation, and 
offerings. Whereupon certain Jews from 18 


4 6 


HOW TO WRITE 


Asia found me purified in the temple, 
neither with multitude nor with tumult. 
(These) ought to have been here before 19 
thee, and object, if they had ought against 
me. Or else let these same here say if they 20 
have found any evil doing in me while I 
stood before the council, except it be for 21 
this one voice that I cried standing among 
them, Touching the resurrection of the 
dead I am called in question by you this 
day. 

Evidently the apostle’s rebuttal was di¬ 
rected almost entirely against his adversaries’ 
assertions of fact. And in great part he con¬ 
tented himself with simply challenging his 
accusers (verse 13) to give evidence of their 
assertions. For these assertions were large 
and general: “ We have found this man a 
pestilent fellow, and a mover of sedition 
among all the Jews throughout the world ” 
(verse 5). To meet assertions so absurdly 
sweeping, it was enough merely to demand 
evidence of particular acts such as they al¬ 
leged. When an adversary launches out into 
sweeping general charges, the best method 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 47 

of reply is to pin him down to particulars. 
If he cannot give these, his general asser¬ 
tions become ridiculous. If, giving particu¬ 
lars, he cannot support them by sufficient 
evidence, he is still plainly at fault. 

Something like a particular charge, indeed, 
they did make, namely, that he had “ gone 
about to profane the temple ” (verse 6). 
This, therefore, the apostle answers particu¬ 
larly. First he seizes upon the time ; “ there 
are yet but twelve days since I went up to 
Jerusalem for to worship” (i.e. went up to 
the temple). Every act being necessarily 
done at a certain place and time and in certain 
other circumstances, it is necessary, in order 
to prove exactly what was done, to sift all 
these circumstances carefully. And, of them 
all, the time, perhaps, is oftenest important. 
A robbery, for instance, must have been 
committed, as we discover by sifting the 
testimony, between ten o’clock and midnight. 
Then if it can be proved that the man ac¬ 
cused of the robbery was at home, before the 
eyes of trustworthy witnesses, during those 



48 


HOW TO WRITE 


two hours, he is at once cleared. My alleged 
profanation of the temple, says the apostle, 
must have been committed within the last 
twelve days. Now it was at once evident, 
without any dwelling upon it, that most of those 
twelve days had been spent by the apostle in 
the hands of Roman guards (see chapters 
xxii. 30; xxiii. 11, 32 ; xxiv. 1). There re¬ 
mained perhaps four days to account for ; 
and since his accusers had not specified any 
particular acts, but vaguely charged sedition 
and profanation in general, he contents him¬ 
self with adding : “ They neither found me 
in the temple disputing with any man, 
neither raising up the people, neither in 
the synagogues, nor in the city. Neither 
can they prove the things whereof they now 
accuse me” (verses 12 and 13). The re¬ 
buttal should have been enough ; but the 
apostle adds his own statement (verses 17—21) 
of the particulars of what actually happened ; 
and challenges his accusers to disprove any 
one of these particulars. He not only ex¬ 
poses a misstatement of facts, but he enforces 
a true statement. 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 


49 > 


III. Exposing Weak Arguments 

<c But this I confess unto thee, that after 
the way which they call heresy, so worship I 
the God of my fathers ” (verse 14). Certain 
facts, then, the apostle admitted; but he did 
not admit what his accusers were trying to 
v make these facts mean. They call this heresy. 
They have no right to call it so. Their reason¬ 
ing from these admitted facts is unwarranted. 
For I believe “ all things which are written 
in the law and in the prophets ” as well as 
they. The final issue between us is whether 
my reasoning from the law and the prophets 
is orthodox, or theirs. So they are really 
begging the question. And as for my par¬ 
ticular insistence on the resurrection, “ they 
themselves allow that there shall be a resur¬ 
rection.How, then, can they argue heresy ? 

The open charges of sedition and profana¬ 
tion were refuted by challenging the assertions 
of fact; the implied charge of heresy was 
refuted by exposing the weakness of the 
argument. In St. Peter's defence before the 


50 


HOW TO WRITE 


council (page 24), all the facts alleged by his 
accusers he admitted. His defence consisted 
in showing that there were other facts, un¬ 
mentioned by them, which were so vital as 
to force a conclusion quite different from 
theirs. When he had insisted on these, 
their reasoning at once appeared so hasty 
that he needed only to add, “ What was 
I, that I could withstand God ? ” The facts 
that we know and the inferences that we im¬ 
mediately draw from them are so closely 
bound together in our thinking that it is 
often hard to consider them separately. Nor 
is it always necessary to separate them ab¬ 
solutely. What is necessary for effective 
reply is to take care of them both. 

IV. Keeping One’s Temper 

There is another aspect, not so obvious, 
in which St. Paul was superior. That is his 
manner, his tone. His opponents were 
angry. They called him names — cc pestilent 
fellow,” “ringleader.” They even so far 
forgot themselves as to show irritation before 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 51 

a Roman judge at a Roman officer (verse 7). 
The apostle had much greater provocation. 
He knew that the prosecution was malicious; 
he had reason to suspect that the trial would 
be unfair. In fact, it transpired later that 
the judge was waiting, not to be convinced, 
but to be bribed (verse 26). Yet the apostle 
kept his calmness and his courtesy. Evi¬ 
dently fearless, utterly earnest, he yet re¬ 
frained from personalities and from charging 
the unworthy motives that in this case, as in 
many others, might have moved him out of 
himself. This is a great advantage. Indeed, 
it is almost a necessity to effective debate. 
When debate lapses into angry retort, it 
usually ceases to be worth hearing. A man 
cannot be master of the occasion unless he is 
master of himself; and he can in no way 
better win sympathy for his cause than by 
silently showing that he thinks more of the 
cause than of himself. 

But further this superiority is moral. It 
is part of an influence that counts in every 
speech, the feeling of the speaker's personal- 


52 


HOW TO WRITE 


ity. Sometimes, even more than from the 
speech, the effect seems to come from the 
speaker ; and always, however unconsciously, 
an audience feels the man behind the argu¬ 
ment. That is why for effective speaking 
nothing can take the place of sincerity 
devoted to the object. 

V. Strengthening One’s Own Side 

Your own case is stronger in proportion as 
your opponent’s is weaker; but that is not 
enough for an audience. At the end of your 
reply they ought to feel, not merely that you 
have answered him, but that you have posi¬ 
tively strengthened your own case. Good 
debate is more than answering this point of 
your opponent, and that, and that. To use 
the language of boxing, it is not mere parry¬ 
ing; it is countering. It is using your 
opponent’s speech as an opportunity to im¬ 
press your own. This the apostle does, 
first, by showing that both the apparent 
object of their attack, his public conduct in 
Jerusalem, and the real object of their attack, 


HOW TO PREPARE A SPEECH 53 

his preaching of the resurrection, stand firm 
in spite of all they have been able to bring 
forward. He urges, not only that he is not 
guilty, but that he is doing good; not only 
that his doctrine of the resurrection is not 
heresy, but that it is a most important 
point of orthodoxy. So he closes his speech, 
as he closes his speech before Agrippa (Acts 
xxvi. 27), with a positive point, and that 
point the very purpose of all his speaking. 
He not only answered his accusers; he also 
preached his own sermon. 



CHAPTER II 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 

(Based on the Epistles to the Romans and Corinthians and on 
the Apocryphal Book of Wisdom) 

A. HOW FAR AN ESSAY IS LIKE A 
SPEECH 

A speech is made to be heard; an essay 
to be read. How far are these different con¬ 
ditions to be met by different means, and 
how far by the same means ? 

At the start it is plain that both speech 
and essay must be made up of the same 
thino-s, must have much the same contents 
(see page 24). For if an essay is written to 
prove or persuade, it must consist, like a 
speech, of facts and arguments. But an 
essay, oftener than a speech, aims not so 
much to persuade as to explain ; or, to put 
it the other way, when the aim is merely to 
5 ^ 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 55 

explain, we had often rather see the thing 
than hear it. We like to have it in black 
and white. So an essay is the natural form 
for explanation. As such it gives admirable 
practice, not only for writing, but also for 
speaking. To put down facts precisely and 
orderly, so that they cannot be misunder¬ 
stood, requires no little skill, and never 
ceases to train the mind. It is worth while 
as a means to a further end, — that is, for 
persuasion ; it is also worth while as an end 
in itself. 

Even when an essay aims merely to explain, 
it is rarely confined to mere statement of 
facts; it is written more often to show their 
bearing, their meaning. It deals with the 
outside only in order to reveal the inside. 
A man writes an essay because he has dis¬ 
cerned in facts that perhaps are known to all 
something that is not known to all, something 
that he thinks all ought to understand as the 
meaning of those facts, — in short, some 
underlying principle. This aim, to explain 
the meaning underneath, is an ear-mark, not 



HOW TO WRITE 


56 

only of formal essays, but of informal essays, 
too. Whether the author chooses to be 
heavy or light, he is pretty sure to have that 
aim as his reason for writing. An essay, 
then, may be written either to persuade or 
merely to explain; but in either case it is 
usually written to show the inside. 

AN ESSAY ON IDOLATRY 

{The Wisdom of Solomon, chapters xiii and xiv) 

xiii 

Surely vain are all men by nature who 1 
are ignorant of God, and could not out of 
the good things that are seen know him 
that is; neither by considering the works 
did they acknowledge the workmaster, 
but deemed either fire or wind, or the 
swift air, or the circle of the stars, or the a 
violent water, or the lights of heaven, to 
be the gods which govern the world. With 3 
whose beauty if they being delighted took 
them to be gods, let them know how 
much better the Lord of them is ; for the 
first author of beauty hath created them. 
But if they were astonished at their power 4 
and virtue, let them understand by them 
how much mightier he is that made them. 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 57 

• 

For by the greatness and beauty of the 5 
creatures proportionably the maker of 
them is seen. But yet for this they are 6 
the less to be blamed ; for they peradven- 
ture err, seeking God, and desirous to find 
him. For, being conversant in his works, 7 
they search him diligently, and believe 
their sight; because the things are beauti¬ 
ful that are seen. Howbeit, neither are 8 
they to be pardoned. For if they were 9 
able to know so much that they could aim 
at the world, how did they not sooner 
find out the Lord thereof? 

But miserable are they, and in dead 10 
things is their hope, who called them gods 
which are the works of men’s hands, gold 
and silver, to shew art in, and resemblances 
of beasts, or a stone good for nothing, the 
work of an ancient hand. Now a carpen- u 
ter that felleth timber, after he hath sawn 
down a tree meet for the purpose, and 
taken off all the bark skilfully round 
about, hath wrought it handsomely, and 
made a vessel thereof fit for the service 
of man’s life; and, after spending the 12 
refuse of his work to dress his meat, hath 
filled himself. And taking the very refuse 13 
among those which served to no use, being 



HOW TO WRITE 


58 . 

a crooked piece of wood, and full of knots, 
(he) hath carved it diligently, when he 
had nothing else to do, and formed it by 
the skill of his understanding, and fash¬ 
ioned it to the image of a man ; or made 14 
it like some vile beast, laying it over with 
vermilion, and with paint colouring it red, 
and covering every spot therein. And 15 
when he hath made a convenient room for 
it, (he) set it in a wall, and made it fast 
with iron. For he provided for it that it 16 
might not fall, knowing that it was unable 
to help itself; for it is an image, and 
hath need of help. Then maketh he 17 
prayer for his goods, for his wife and 
children, and is not ashamed to speak to 
that which hath no life. For health he 18 
calleth upon that which is weak, for life 
prayeth to that which is dead, for aid 
humbly beseecheth that which hath least 
means to help, (and) for a good journey 
(he) asketh of that which cannot set a 
foot forward, and for gaining and getting, 19 
and for good success of his hands, asketh 
ability to do of him that is most unable to 
do anything • xiv 

Again, one preparing himself to sail, 1 
and about to pass through the raging 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY , 59 

waves, calleth upon a piece of wood more 
rotten than the vessel that carrieth him. 
For verily desire of gain devised that, and 2 
the workman built it by his skill. But 3 
thy providence, O Father, governeth it; 
for thou hast made a way in the sea, and 
a safe path in the waves, shewing that thou 4 
canst save from all danger, yea, though a 
man went to sea without art. Neverthe- 5 
less thou wouldest not that the works of 
thy wisdom should be idle; and therefore 
do men commit their lives to a small 
piece of wood, and, passing the rough sea 
in a weak vessel, are saved. For in the 6 
old time also, when the proud giants per¬ 
ished, the hope of the world governed by 
thy hand escaped in a weak vessel, and 
left to all ages a seed of generation. For 7 
blessed is the wood whereby righteousness 
cometh. But that which is made with 8 
hands is cursed, as well it as he that made 
it; he because he made it, and it because, 
being corruptible, it was called god. For 9 
the ungodly and his ungodliness are both 
alike hateful unto God. For that which 10 
is made shall be punished together with 
him that made it. Therefore even upon n 
the idols of the Gentiles shall there be a 





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visitation ; because in the creature of God 
they are become an abomination, and 
stumbling blocks to the souls of men, and 
a snare to the feet of the unwise. For the 12 
devising of idols was the beginning of 
spiritual fornication, and the invention of 
them the corruption of life. For neither i 3 
were they from the beginning, neither shall 
they be for ever. For by the vain glory i 4 
of men they entered into the world, and 
therefore shall they come shortly to an 
end. 

For a father afflicted with untimely 15 
mourning, when he hath made an image 
of his child soon taken away, now honoured 
him as a god, which was then a dead man, 
and delivered to those that were under him 
ceremonies and sacrifices. Thus in pro- 16 
cess of time an ungodly custom grown 
strong was kept as a law, and graven images 
were worshipped by the commandments 
of kings. Whom men could not honour 17 
in presence, because they dwelt far off, 
they took the counterfeit of his visage from 
far, and made an express image of a king 
whom they honoured, to the end that by 
this their forwardness they might flatter 
him that was absent as if he were present. 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 


61 


Also the singular diligence of the arti- 18 
ficer did help to set forward the ignorant 
to more superstition. For he, peradventure i 9 
willing to please one in authority, forced 
all his skill to make the resemblance of the 
best fashion. And so the multitude, al- 20 
lured by the grace of the work, took him 
now for a god which a little before was but 
honoured as a man. And this was an 21 
occasion to deceive the world; for men, 
serving either calamity or tyranny, did 
ascribe unto stones and stocks the incom¬ 
municable name. 

Moreover, this was not enough for them, 22 
that they erred in the knowledge of God; 
but, whereas they lived in the great war of 
ignorance, those so great plagues called 
they peace. For whilst they slew their 23 
children in sacrifices, or used secret cere¬ 
monies, or made revellings of strange rites, 
they kept neither lives nor marriages any 24 
longer undefiled; but either one slew 
another traitorously, or grieved him by 
adultery. So that there reigned in all men 25 
without exception blood, manslaughter, 
theft, and dissimulation, corruption, un¬ 
faithfulness, tumults, perjury, disquieting 
of good men, forgetfulness of good turns, 26 





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defiling of souls, changing of kind, dis¬ 
order in marriages, adultery, and shameless 
uncleanness. For the worshipping of idols 27 
not to be named is the beginning, the cause, 
and the end, of all evil. For either they 28 
are mad when they be merry, or prophesy 
lies, or live unjustly, or else lightly for¬ 
swear themselves. For insomuch as their 29 
trust is in idols, which have no life, though 
they swear falsely, yet they look not to be 
hurt. 

Howbeit for both causes shall they be 30 
justly punished; both because they thought 
not well of God, giving heed unto idols, 
and also unjustly swore in deceit, despising 
holiness. For it is not the power of them 31 
by whom they swear, but it is the just 
vengeance of sinners, that punisheth always 
the offence of the ungodly. 

B . HOW THE PRINCIPLES OF A SPEECH 
APPLY TO AN ESSAY 

I. Fixing One Point 

The object or purpose of every speech is 
single (see page 8) in the strict sense of 
going into a single sentence. The object of 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 63 


an essay may be single too ; but it is not often 
single so very strictly. It cannot so often be 
summed up in a single sentence. The dif¬ 
ference comes from this, that the object of a 
speech is usually to have something done; 
the object of an essay is usually to have 
something understood. The latter object is 
not so compellingly single. The Mars’ Hill 
speech deals with some of the same matters 
as this essay on idolatry. The former turns 
them all toward one point of action for one 
audience; the latter is satisfied with showing 
certain main, underlying principles to any¬ 
body and everybody that cares to read, leav¬ 
ing them to act as they choose. God has 
revealed himself, says St. Paul. You Athe¬ 
nians must obey him. God has revealed him¬ 
self, says the essayist. What fools men are 
to worship the creature instead of the Crea¬ 
tor ! An essay may be less single than a 
speech because it may not be addressed to 
the wills of any single set of men. 

But this does not mean that an essay dare 
wander. An essay is not bound to one sen- 


6 4 


HOW TO WRITE 


tence ; but it is bound to one topic. This 
essay is all about idolatry. More than that, 
it is all about one aspect of idolatry. Idola¬ 
try is a topic broad enough to let a man 
write within its limits many things related to 
the general topic, indeed, but not related to 
one another. An essay written with that 
loose freedom would be disjointed and con¬ 
fusing. It would fall to pieces. It could 
not be remembered as a whole. This essay 
is not only all about idolatry , but all about 
the folly of idolatry . That is a topic limited 
enough to be treated in one brief essay. 
Fixing one point for an essay, then, means 
limiting the thought to what can be viewed 
all together by the reader as a whole. The 
topic thus chosen may be broad enough to 
include within itself, as in this essay, several 
other topics as parts; but it must not be 
broad enough to include anything that can¬ 
not be seen at once as part of the single 
whole. 

Here is the difference between a single 
essay such as this and a chapter of separate 



HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 65 

reflections such as make up most of the 
Book of Proverbs. The two are alike in 
some things. Both are reflective ; both seek 
underlying principles. But this essay is 
meant to be remembered as a whole; most 
of the chapters of Proverbs are meant to be 
remembered as parts. “ Correct thy son, 
and he shall give thee rest; yea, he shall 
give delight unto thy soul. Where there is 
no vision, the people perish : but he that 
keepeth the law, happy is he ” (Proverbs 
xxix. 17-18). So it goes. It has no one 
point; it has a hundred; and these are set 
down to be remembered, not together, but 
separately. It is not single; it is manifold. 
It is not a composition ; it is a collection. 
But turn to the latter part of the first chap¬ 
ter (Proverbs i. 20-33), or to secon d 
chapter, or the eighth, and you find the same 
author composing his thoughts toward one 
end, —that is, turning from separate proverbs 
to the single essay. 


F 


66 


HOW TO WRITE 


II. Taking Hold 

How to begin? In preparing a speech 
the question is answered partly by knowing 
the audience. What to begin with is largely 
determined by whom to begin for (page io). 
The essay-writer, on the other hand, has no 
audience. He addresses anybody that will 
read. So he is guided in his beginning only 
by the attitude toward his subject of the 
average man, and by the way he intends to 
go on. As in a speech, the beginning is 
gauged to the ending; but more than in a 
speech, because there is little else to gauge 
by. In writing an essay, taking hold means 
simply beginning with the right part of the 
subject; and what the right part is depends 
mainly on the plan of the whole. Practically, 
then, the order of these two sections is re¬ 
versed. You hardly know how to take hold 
until you know how you are going on. 

Still, what will catch the ear will often 
catch the eye. Where it is possible without 
leaving the line of thought, it is worth while 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 67 


to begin strikingly. cc Wisdom crieth with¬ 
out ” (Proverbs i. 20) ; “ Thy heart hath 
gone too far in this world, and thinkest thou 
to understand the way of the most High ? ” 
(2 Esdras iv. 2) — these are striking begin¬ 
nings. The Book of Ecclesiastes opens with 
the famous “ Vanity of vanity ; all is vanity ” ; 
and one of its later essays (Ecclesiastes xi. 1) 
with the paradox, “Cast thy bread upon the 
waters.” 

Those first words are indeed striking; but 
they turn out to be still more evidently some¬ 
thing else — they are either hints or open 
announcements of the theme. “ All is 
vanity ” — that is the subject of Ecclesiastes. 
“ Surely vain are all men by nature who are 
ignorant of God ” — a great part of this essay 
on idolatry is packed away in the opening 
words. And that is the best use to which 
the opening words can be put. Let them 
mark the subject. That is only fair to the 
reader. The title, if there be a title, may 
give a hint. Let the opening sentence make 
this clearer. If the opening marks the sub- 


68 


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ject, sounds the theme, it is so far a good 
opening; if it marks the subject strikingly, 
it is so much the better. 

To begin with a striking announcement 
of the theme is to begin at once without 
introduction. Most of the essays in the 
Bible are without introduction, because they 
are short. An extended work, like the 
Book of the Acts, may well have one; but 
a short essay — and there should be more 
short essays than long — may well dispense 
with an approach. At most a few words 
will be worth while. “ Rejoice, O young 
man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer 
thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in 
the ways of thine heart and in the sight of 
thine eyes ” (Ecclesiastes xi. 9), begins the 
wise man, as if he would preach license. 
The next words show that those were but 
for contrast: “ but know thou that for all 
these things God will bring thee into judg¬ 
ment. Therefore remove sorrow from thy 
heart. . . . Remember now thy Creator in 
the days of thy youth, while the evil days 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 69 

come not.” There is the theme. The 
opening words, then, whether theme or intro¬ 
duction, should be striking ; and most often 
they should at once sound the theme. 

III. Going On 

In the matter of going on an essay is 
essentially like a speech. Both need a plan 
to guide the preparation (page 15); both 
seek by this plan to lead along a line to the 
point of the whole ; for both have as a large 
part of the task to make people follow. “ I 
don’t quite follow you ” — when that is said 
by a hearer or mentally ejaculated by a 
reader, the speech or the essay is at fault. 
And the means of making people follow are 
the same for both speech and essay. 

(a) OUTLINE OR PLAN 
(Compare pages 16, 69, and 80) 

Outline of the Essay on Idolatry 
xiii. 1. It is vain in principle to worship 
1-9 the manifestation instead of 

the Manifester. 


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IO-I9 2. 

And in practice it leads to ab¬ 
surdity. 

xiv. 3. 

God curses the perversion of 

1-14 

skill toward glorifying the 
mere means instead of the 
real Power. 

I 5“" I 7 4- 

The evil arose from perverted 
affection, 

18-21 5. 

and from the greed of skilled 
workmen. 

22-29 6. 

It resulted in turning religion to 
abominable rites, and life to 
abominable practices. 

30-31 7* 

For both these results punish¬ 
ment is inevitable. 

Put into 

a nutshell, this is : — 

The Folly of Idolatry 

xiii. 1-9 

A. In principle. 

10-19 

B. In practice. 

xiv. 1-14 

C. As a perversion of good 
gifts. 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 


71 


15-21 D. As arising from two main 
causes. 

22-29 E. As having two main results. 

30—31 F. As leading to inevitable retri¬ 
bution. 

Compare this treatment with that of Isaiah, 
xliv. 9-20, and that of Romans i. 18-32. 

(b) PARAGRAPHS 

But some difference arises from the differ¬ 
ence between hearing and reading. In a 
speech the going on must be heard; in 
an essay it must be seen. In a speech 
this may be done in two ways: first, the 
speaker may announce at the beginning 
his whole plan ; second, he must wind up 
each stage very carefully, and pause before 
he begins the next. The first thing he may 
or may not do ; and indeed, unless his 
speech is to be long or complicated, he often 
dispenses with this formality. But the sec¬ 
ond thing he must do. His audience will 
lose the way unless they know at once that 


72 


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he has just finished one point and is now 
beginning another. In a word, the speaker 
must mark the beginnings and endings 
of his points or stages. Now an essay- 
writer is even less likely to post up his 
whole plan at the start; for a formal opening 
promises a cold and dry going on. Yet an 
essay-writer, too, must mark off his points 
clearly, mark their beginnings and their end¬ 
ings unmistakably. Only he must mark 
them for the eye. So has arisen our modern 
system of paragraphs. Going on in an 
essay is going on by paragraphs. 


(i) The Outside of a Paragraph: Spacing for 
the Eye 

A paragraph, to look at, is a part of an 
essay spaced off. It is so much of an essay 
as goes between two marginal spacings. 
Nowadays we always mark a paragraph, in 
writing and in print, as this one of mine is 
marked, by beginning it to the right of the 
margin, — that is, by leaving a blank space to 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 73 


catch the eye. The convenience of this 
simple device is very great. It lets the 
reader run over the whole progress of the 
essay, either in review or in advance, by 
glancing at the beginnings and endings of 
the stages of that progress. It leaves him 
in no doubt as to which details the writer 
meant to consider separately and which 
details he meant to consider in combination 
as making for his purpose a single point. 

The convenience of paragraph spaces is 
even more obvious by its absence than by its 
presence. Old books, printed before para¬ 
graph spacing became customary, are much 
harder to follow. The paragraphs may be 
there; but the reader has to find them. 
Stages of thought there are ; but the reader has 
to separate them for himself. And when he 
comes to review, as in this case he is usually 
compelled to do, he has to search all over 
again. In fact, if you wish really to deter¬ 
mine the line of thought in such an old book, 
the best way is to mark the paragraphs with 
a pencil as you go along, and then, when 


74 


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you have read the whole, to go back over 
these marks in order to make sure that you 
have them right. This is tedious, but 
usually not more tedious than to grope. 
And no other book has suffered more from 
the lack of the modern convenience than the 
English Bible. The Authorised Version, 
the Bible that we all know, is printed, for 
the most part, not in paragraphs, but in 
chapters and so-called verses, with occasional 
section marks (^[). The chapters are usually 
larger than paragraphs, contain, that is, more 
than one stage of thought. The section 
marks sometimes mark paragraphs, but by 
no means always; and in some books, such 
as the Epistle to the Romans, where para¬ 
graph marking would be of the greatest 
assistance, there are no section marks at 
all. The verses are always smaller than 
paragraphs, contain, that is, only a small 
part of a stage. In the Psalms and some 
of the Prophets the verses correspond to 
those of the Hebrew poetry; what they 
correspond to in some other books is not 


HOW TO PREPARE AH ESSAY 75 

always clear. Doubtless the main intention 
of the translators was to supply a means of 
ready reference to particular passages. What¬ 
ever its idea, the printer's spacing of the 
English Bible, instead of helping the reader 
by catching his eye at the right places, hinders 
and confuses him by interrupting him at 
every sentence or two. Therefore it is a 
good service to reprint the Bible in para¬ 
graphs. 

(2) The Inside of a Paragraph: Marking 
Stages of Thought. 

But of course this paragraph spacing is a 
help only when it marks real paragraphs. 
An essay spaced every few sentences is just 
as confusing as an essay not spaced at all. 
In other words, this outside matter of spacing 
for the eye must correspond to the inside 
matter of arranging stages of thought for 
the mind. Outside, a paragraph is a group 
of sentences spaced off from another group 
of sentences; inside, a paragraph is one 
definite stage in the course of the thought. 


?6 


HOW TO WRITE 


It is one of the units that go to make 
up the whole. It exists in the writer’s 
plan before it is written out in sentences. 
He knows it as one distinct stage in his 
thought before he knows just how he is 
going to say it. Like a man drawing, a 
man writing blocks out his paragraphs be¬ 
fore he fills them in. He sketches his para¬ 
graphs first. And though he may make 
many changes in sentences as he revises, 
turning them this way and that to make 
them fit in better, he is much less likely to 
change his paragraph outline ; for that would 
be really to change his thought. A para¬ 
graph, then, is set off for the eye of the 
reader as a distinct part, because it is in fact 
a distinct part in the mind of the writer. 

Making paragraphs in an essay, then, is 
not at bottom different from planning suc¬ 
cessive stages in a speech; but the fact that 
it is done partly for the eye, that it is set 
down deliberately in black and white, gives 
it a special value in practice. It forces the 
composer to more exact care. Trying to 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 77 

iook at his writing as a reader will look at it, 
he puts his pencil down on places that his 
eye finds lacking, and makes them clearer to 
his reader’s eye. And, as this revision leads 
to clearer habit, he gains in all his work. 

(3) The Paragraph as a Single Part 

In such revision of paragraphs three guid¬ 
ing principles may be learned from the para¬ 
graphs of the Bible; for these paragraphs, 
though they are often obscured by defective 
printing, are there underneath ; and some¬ 
times, happily, they are even marked for 
the eye. For instance, in developing his 
instruction to the Corinthians concerning 
spiritual gifts, St. Paul devotes one distinct 
stage to love, or “ charity ” ; and this para¬ 
graph is printed (1 Corinthians xiii) as one 
chapter. 

Though I speak with the tongues of 1 
men and of angels, and have not charity, I 
am become as sounding brass, or a tink¬ 
ling cymbal. And though I have the gift 2 
of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, 


78 


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and all knowledge, and though I have all 
faith, so that I could remove mountains, 
and have not charity, I am nothing. And 3 
though I bestow all my goods to feed 
the poor, and though I give my body to 
be burned, and have not charity, it profit- 
eth me nothing. Charity suffereth long, 4 
and is kind ; charity envieth not; charity 
vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth 
not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not 5 
her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh 
no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but 6 
rejoiceth in the truth ; beareth all things, 7 
believeth all things, hopeth all things, 
endureth all things. Charity never fail- s 
eth : but whether there be prophecies, they 
shall fail; whether there be tongues, they 
shall cease; whether there be knowledge, 
it shall vanish away. For we know in 9 
part, and we prophesy in part; but when 10 
that which is perfect is come, then that 
which is in part shall be done away. 
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I n 
understood as a child, I thought as a child ; 
but when I became a man, I put away 
childish things. For now we see through 12 
a glass, darkly, but then face to face; now 
I know in part, but then shall I know 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 79 


even as also I am known. And now 13 
abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; 
but the greatest of these is charity. 

This is felt as one distinct point. Why ? 
Not because the apostle has nothing more to 
say on the subject, for his previous chapter 
deals with it, and also his following; but 
because he has made this stand out separately. 
It is at once a part and a whole. It leads 
from what comes before to what comes after. 
So it is a part. But it makes sense by 
itself; it is complete in itself. So it is a 
whole. A paragraph is a part, but it is a com¬ 
plete part. It is a little essay making part 
of a larger essay. It is not a mere broken 
piece ; it is a squared and trimmed stone. 

How is it made so distinct ? How is it 
made to leave so clear an impression that we 
grasp it separately and surely before going on 
to the next ? By being held strictly to one 
sentence. The idea of it all is not vaguely 
charity , but very definitely Charity is the 
greatest spiritual gift . Every clear and 


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HOW TO WRITE 


strong paragraph, being held to one message, 
can thus be summed up in one sentence. 
And conversely, no paragraph will stand out 
clearly, for itself and as part of the larger 
whole, unless it has for its subject, not 
vaguely a word or a phrase, but strictly a 
sentence. The way to test at once the dis¬ 
tinctness of a paragraph and its value as 
carrying on the whole progress of the essay is 
to see whether it can be summed up in one 
sentence. To sum up an essay by express¬ 
ing the gist of each paragraph in a sentence 
(page 69) is to see at once what the whole is 
worth as a line of thought, and what each part 
is worth for itself and for the whole. What 
is demanded of a whole speech (page 8) is 
demanded of each paragraph in an essay,— 
that it be held to a single sentence. 

(4) The Paragraph as a Finished and Adjusted 
Part 

A second principle may be seen working 
in this paragraph. The last words sound 
the theme, <f the greatest of these is charity.” 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 


Those words catch the eye because they 
come last. Just as a speaker winds up one 
point clearly and then pauses before begin¬ 
ning the next, so the writer. The speaker’s 
pause corresponds to the paragraph space, 
which is here the chapter space. Whatever 
comes just before that pause or that space 
stands out. The value of this for clearness 
and force is happily shown in the Epistle to 
the Romans, where the end of a chapter is 
usually the end of a paragraph. Other 
paragraphs there are within the chapters. It 
it capital practice at this point to find and 
mark them, to see how much is gained by 
making every stage stand out. But these 
stages stand out already. They so stand 
out that their last words are remembered 
among the most familiar passages of the 
Bible: cc For the wages of sin is death ; but 
the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus 
Christ our Lord ” (end of chapter vi). “ For 

I am persuaded that neither death nor life . . . 
shall be able to separate us from the love of 
God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord ” 


8 2 


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(end of chapter viii). “ Be not overcome of 
evil, but overcome evil with good ” (end of 
chapter xii). 

H ow this stress on the point of each 
paragraph at the end clears the way, prepares 
the mind for the next paragraph, may also 
be seen in the same epistle. The fourth 
chapter ends : “ And therefore it was imputed 
to him for righteousness. Now it was not 
written for his sake alone . . . but for us 
also, to whom it shall be imputed, if we 
believe on him that raised up Jesus our 
Lord from the dead, who was delivered for 
our offences and was raised again for our 
justification .” That last word sums up the 
point. Thereupon the next paragraph 
begins easily, £C Therefore, being justified by 
faith , we have peace,” etc. The fifth 
chapter ends, “ That as sin hath reigned 
unto death, even so might grace reign 
through righteousness unto eternal life by 
Jesus Christ our Lord.” So the sixth 
chapter can take up the next point easily: 
“ What shall we say, then ? Shall we con- 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 83 

tinue in sin , that grace may abound ? God 
forbid.” Again the seventh chapter ends, 
“ So then with the mind I myself serve the 
law of God, but with the flesh the law of 
sin.” And the eighth chapter begins, 
cc There is therefore now no condemnation to 
them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk, 
not after the fleshy but after the spirit .” In 
a word, when the reader knows just where he 
is at the end of one stage, he is so much the 
readier to take up the next. 

These last examples show that not only 
the end stands out, but also the beginning. 
They show also that the beginning is the 
place for linking — for linking the point just 
finished with the point just begun. They 
show finally how this linking is done. The 
opening of a paragraph, while it usually 
states the paragraph subject, repeats some 
words from the winding up of the previous 
paragraph. This repetition for clearness is 
indicated in the instances above by italics. 
It is like a guide-post, showing the reader 
how far he has already come, and at the 


84 


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same time what is the next point in his 
journey. The end of a paragraph, then, is 
the place to mark the close of one stage; 
the beginning is the place to mark the con¬ 
nection between that stage and the next. 

(5) The Paragraph as a Connected Part 

Finally this rule of connection must be 
carried out, not only at the beginning of a 
paragraph, but all through ; not only with¬ 
out, to mark the progress of the whole essay,, 
but also within, to mark the progress in the 
paragraph itself. This is the third principle 
to be learned from the paragraphs of the 
Bible. Going on means progressing from 
paragraph to paragraph through a whole 
essay; it also means progressing from sen¬ 
tence to sentence through a whole paragraph. 
For the end of a paragraph cannot easily be 
stressed by a strong summary unless the pre¬ 
ceding sentences have steadily led up. How 
is that idea, Charity is the greatest spiritual 
gift , carried through to its striking close ? 
First the apostle heaps up assertions of the 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 85 

fundamental necessity of charity. Without it 
even the greatest effort is vain, — eloquence, 
knowledge, even faith, even the extreme of 
self-sacrifice. These assertions are arranged 
in a climax, growing stronger and stronger. 
Then he proceeds to support these very 
strong assertions by showing how charity is 
expressed: in patience, gentleness, freedom 
from envy, in humility, etc. These are 
arranged in an order of increasing signifi¬ 
cance until the writer leads us to see how 
the one great gift swallows up all other gifts, 
expressing itself spontaneously in them be¬ 
cause it is their proper motive power. So 
he has prepared us to see that charity is the 
great permanency. We are ready for the 
comparison with the other gifts as temporary. 
They by their nature are temporary ; charity 
by its nature is eternal. Why ? Here we 
are led to the culmination. Because charity 
is the great progressive impulse, working 
from childish beginnings through our earthly 
growth into the full life beyond. (1) Charity 
is a prerequisite to the higher life. (2) For 


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it is the motive power of all higher life. 
(3) Among all the expressions of this higher 
life it alone is permanent. (4) For it is the 
progressive divine impulse through higher 
and higher life to the highest. That is the 
order; and the order is a steady progress. 
Each point is connected with the preceding; 
for each preceding point is a preparation for 
the following. 

H ow is this connection marked ? Obvi¬ 
ously by connectives, by putting in the right 
conjunctions. The first three verses, being 
a heaping up, an adding of one instance to 
another, are connected merely by and. The 
relation of the ninth verse to the eighth, and 
of the twelfth to the eleventh, is quite differ¬ 
ent. One is the reason or proof of the other. 
It is marked by for. There is no need of 
many words concerning the importance of 
the right conjunctions in helping the reader 
see the relations of ideas. But there is need 
of much care and revision ; for most writers, 
whether through haste or laziness, will some¬ 
times put in and or but when they intend a 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 87 

connection quite different. In such cases the 
reader is left to guess, or is even positively 
confused. The English language has con¬ 
junctions enough to supply the right one for 
any shade of connection. Therefore every 
writer is bound to make reading fairly easy 
by this means. See how it is used in the 
essay on idolatry (page 56), and compare the 
looser effect of the many and's in the Antioch 
speech (page 27). 

But this is not the only means. Repeti¬ 
tion, as it serves to connect paragraphs, will 
also serve to connect sentences. Through 
this whole paragraph, like the theme in a 
piece of music, runs the word charity . To 
the ear or the eye, it is a steady guide. For 
what serves to make a given sentence stand 
out, as these do, emphatically, will also serve 
to bind sentence to sentence in one solid 
paragraph (see page 82). 

IV. Bringing Home 

All this is important; but again it is not 
all. Like the speaker, the writer must fix 


88 


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one point; he must take hold skilfully ; he 
must carry on progressively. Besides, since 
he appeals to the mind through the eye, he 
must carefully mark his paragraphs, and as 
carefully round them. Having done all 
this, he has made his essay clear. But per¬ 
haps he has not made it interesting. True, 
an essay cannot be brought home so fully as 
a speech. There is no equivalent for the 
living man speaking to hearers actually 
present. And again, an essay is not made 
so often as a speech to bring home in the 
sense of applying immediately to conduct 
(page 23). If it be written to have some¬ 
thing done, then of course it will naturally 
bring home by application; but it is less 
often written so (page 54). Still, for all that, 
an essay should not leave its readers cold. 
For all that, if it is but an orderly set of prop¬ 
ositions, it may fail as a speech fails. It may 
fail in appeal. Its points may even fail to be 
understood if they are not felt. 

How does the writer on idolatry (page 56) 
try to make his readers feel ? In precisely 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESS Ay 89 

that other way of bringing home which 
makes speeches interesting (page 20); that 
is, by suggesting images to the imagination. 
He makes his instances seem actually present 
to his readers by putting them in concrete, 
specific words. Suppose he had written all 
in the style of verses 3-9 : cc With whose 
beauty if they being delighted took them to 
be gods, let them know how much better 
the Lord of them is ; for the first author of 
beauty hath created them. But if they were 
astonished at their power and virtue, let 
them understand by them how much mightier 
he is that made them. For by the greatness 
and beauty of the creatures proportionably 
the maker of them is seen,” etc. Beauty , 
'power , virtue , greatness , — those words are 
precise enough; but they are remote, ab¬ 
stract. They call up no picture. So the 
writer does not leave the matter so. He 
says they <c deemed either fire, or wind, or 
the swift air, or the circle of the stars, or the 
violent water, or the lights of heaven to be 
the gods which govern the world ” (verse 2). 


90 


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What a difference in the style, in the wa) 
of putting it! Every word says something 
that we have seen, and can see again in recol¬ 
lection. And how that very specific “ circle 
of the stars” and “violent water” lets the 
imagination loose ! 

So when he turns from theory to practice 
(verse io), he is not content with the general 
statement, “ But miserable are they and in 
dead things is their hope, who called them 
gods which are the work of men’s hands.” 
This is careful and sound enough; but he 
does not rest there. “ Now a carpenter that 
felleth a timber,” he goes on at once, bring¬ 
ing the folly home to us by a detailed de¬ 
scription, “ taking the very refuse among 
those which served to no purpose, being a 
crooked piece of wood and full of knots, 
hath carved it.” That crooked piece of 
wood sticks in the mind because we seem to 
see it. “ Or made it like some vile beast, 
laying it over” — with bright colours? with 
attractive hues ? No; specifically with “ver¬ 
milion.” The imagination is touched by the 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 


91 


specific words of sights and smells, colours 
and sounds. 

The same method is used for the same sub¬ 
ject by the prophet (Isaiah xliv. 12-17) : — 

The smith with the tongs both worketh ia 
in the coals, and fashioneth it with ham¬ 
mers, and worketh it with the strength of 
his arms. Yea, he is hungry, and his 
strength faileth; he drinketh no water, 
and is faint. The carpenter stretcheth out 13 
his rule; he marketh it out with a line; 
he fitteth it with planes, and he marketh 
it out with the compass, and maketh it 
after the figure of a man, according to the 
beauty of a man, that it may remain in 
the house. He heweth him down cedars, 14 
and taketh the cypress and the oak, which 
he strengthened for himself among the 
trees of the forest. He planteth an ash, 
and the rain doth nourish it. Then shall 15 
it be for a man to burn ; for he will take 
thereof and warm himself. Yea, he kin- 
dleth it, and baketh bread. Yea, he 
maketh a god, and worshipped it; he 
maketh it a graven image, and faileth 
down thereto. He burneth part thereof 16 


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in the fire; with part thereof he eateth 
flesh; he roasteth roast, and is satisfied. 
Yea, he warmeth himself, and saith, Aha! 

I am warm ; I have seen the fire. And 17 
the residue thereof he maketh a god, even 
his graven image. He falleth down unto 
it, and worshippeth it, and prayeth unto it, 
and saith, Deliver me; for thou art my god. 


Though an essay, then, cannot be brought 
home in one way that is characteristic of a 
speech, it still can be brought home very 
effectively in the other way. 

C. HOW TO REVISE AN ESSAY 

It is already plain that an essay gives more 
opportunity for revision than a speech. The 
final form of a speech is sometimes not even 
once written fully, but prepared only in out¬ 
line. The difference is in detail. In plan, 
in all such larger matters as the choice and 
grouping of material, both are revised alike ; 
but in detail, in choice of words and arrange¬ 
ment of sentences, the essay can be more de- 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 


93 


liberate. And more deliberation is expected. 
What we hear is impressed upon us now or 
never; what we read we can scrutinise at 
leisure. In a speech an occasional abruptness 
or hesitation or looseness of language may 
be readily passed over ; in an essay we rightly 
assume that the writer has deliberately settled 
just what he wishes to say in just the form 
in which he wishes to say it. He has had 
so much more opportunity to revise that we 
hold him to stricter account. 

This difference is most marked in the 
way of making sentences. A speaker, how¬ 
ever clear the idea in his own mind, after he 
has uttered it in one sentence may see that 
it has not taken hold. So he says it again 
in another form, and perhaps still again, un¬ 
til he is sure that it has sunk in. So the 
verbatim printed reports of speeches often 
seem to repeat more and to connect less than 
the speeches themselves. For, as we read 
print, we unconsciously assume that the 
writer has done all this in his rough draught, 
and then stricken out what is superfluous to 


94 


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the eye, and settled what may have rushed 
into his mind as separate statements in one 
carefully related sentence. We expect him, 
not to leave us a choice of three ways, each 
partly right and none wholly right, but to 
choose and compose one way as finally best. 
In a word, the sentences of an essay, being 
made more deliberately, are naturally more 
complex. 

So practice in writing, rather than practice 
in speaking, gives command of sentences. 
By much revision, turning this way and that 
until the form of the sentence shows unmis¬ 
takably the relations of its parts, a writer 
works away from loose and disjointed forms 
into a habit of terseness. He can see where 
his sentences halt or trail; and, by revising 
them, he can steadily gain in mastery of vig¬ 
orous statement. 

I. Compound Sentences and Complex Sentences 

We all learned in our school grammars 
the difference between compound sentences 
and complex. A compound sentence is a 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 


95 


sentence composed by putting two or more 
parts side by side as equal in importance. It 
simply adds one statement to another state¬ 
ment, usually by and or but or some other 
familiar conjunction, to show that these state¬ 
ments are meant to be taken together as equal 
parts. A complex sentence, on the other 
hand, is a sentence composed by putting one 
or more parts as it were under one main part. 
It is made to show that these parts are not 
equal, that one of them is the main statement 
and the others are subordinate. This differ¬ 
ence we understood and still understand theo¬ 
retically ; but many of us have never applied 
it practically. A child explaining something 
will make all his sentences compound. It 
is easiest for him to put down everything 
side by side, “ You cross the stone bridge, 
and you come to a wooden bridge next, and 
there is a sawmill, and just beyond that a 
road turns to the right, and that is the 
shortest way.” A maturer mind, giving the 
same directions more deliberately, expresses 
them thus : “ The road that forks to the 


9 6 


HOW TO WRITE 


right, just beyond the sawmill by the sec¬ 
ond bridge, is the shortest way.” The child 
talks in compound sentences because he L> 
not old enough to feel and express the rela¬ 
tions of his statements. He makes all his 
statements equal, though he does not mean 
them to be equal. The man talks in com¬ 
plex sentences just in so far as he feels and 
expresses relations. Compound sentences are 
the language of childhood ; the language, that 
is, both of children and of early prose, such as 
old chronicles. Complex sentences are the 
language of maturity ; that is, both of grown 
men and of modern prose. Every one, 
therefore, who seeks to express himself pre¬ 
cisely and concisely must know how to turn 
the accidental compound sentences that he 
dashed off in a hurry into the deliberate 
complex sentences that he really means. 
This is an important part of revision. 

Of course not all compound sentences are 
accidental. A compound sentence is a per¬ 
fectly good form when it says what you 
mean. “ The rod and reproof give wisdom ; 



HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 9; 


but a child left to himself bringeth his mother 
to shame” (Proverbs xxix. 15). Here is a 
compound sentence that could not be mad? 
otherwise. The very point is to put these 
two statements side by side for contrast. 
The sentence must be compound. Such 
cases occur by hundreds. But when the 
statements are not intentionally parallel, 
when they are made parallel simply because 
the writer is thinking loosely, then revision 
should correct the form until it tells the 
truth. 

But yet for this they are the less to be 
blamed ; for they peradventure err, and really 
seek God, and are desirous to find him. For 
they are conversant in his works, and search 
him diligently, and believe their sight; and 
the things that they see are beautiful (Wis¬ 
dom xiii. 6 and 7. See page 57). 

This conveys certain ideas, but how loosely 
and vaguely! Turn now to see how the 
form of the sentences as they were actually 
written makes the thoughts clearer by ex¬ 
pressing the relations exactly : — 

H 


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But yet for this they are the less to be 
blamed; for they peradventure err, seeking 
God and desirous to find him. For, being 
conversant in his works, they search him 
diligently and believe their sight, because the 
things are beautiful that are seen. 

The paragraph from i Corinthians, printed 
above (page 77), may well be studied to see 
when sentences are properly compound and 
when they are properly complex. The 
first three sentences are complex because 
they must be complex. “ Though I speak,” 
“ Though I have the gift,” “ Though I 
bestow all my goods,” — in each case this 
opening statement is subordinated. To 
write : u I may speak with the tongues of 
men and of angels and have not charity, and 
become as sounding brass,” etc., would dull 
both the meaning and the force. But when 
the apostle intends a parallel, he makes the 
sentence parallel: “ For now we see through 
a glass darkly, but then face to face; now I 
know in part, but then shall I know even as 
also I am known.” Taken as a whole, the 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 99 

English Bible is looser in this single respect 
than the best modern prose. The reason 
for this difference has been hinted above. 
When the translation was made, the English 
language, though exceptionally rich in store 
of words, had not yet developed a consist¬ 
ently logical habit of sentences. In habit 
of sentences it was still youthful. So the 
translation of St. Paul’s epistles, for instance, 
is sometimes inadequate to the nicer sentence 
relations of the original Greek. Still, it has 
examples enough of careful subordination to 
point the way. 

Such revision serves the further purpose 
of breaking monotony. A series of com¬ 
pound sentences is tiresome, not only be¬ 
cause it is slipshod, but also because it makes 
a singsong. Whether spoken or written, 
such a series tends to lull people to sleep. 
And conversely, one good way to keep peo¬ 
ple awake is variety in sentences. 



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II. Sentences that Make the Right Word Stand 
Out 

If the second sentence of the paragraph 
on charity (page 77) be spoken or read aloud, 
the voice will fall with natural emphasis 
on “ nothing." So the third sentence — “ it 
profiteth me nothing .” So the last sentence 

_“the greatest of these is charity .” So, 

indeed, though in lesser degree, all the sen¬ 
tences put the most important word at the 
end. All practised speakers know that one 
great way to give particular words particular 
stress is to put them where the voice falls 
naturally, — at the end. What is true for 
the ear is true also, though not so conspicu¬ 
ously, for the eye. That last sentence of 
mine I deliberately turned as I wrote it, so 
as to put the word eye last. I wished to 
show that I meant that word to be empha¬ 
sized. If I had written. What is true for 
the ear is true also for the eye, though not so 
conspicuously, though the words are the same, 
the meaning is a shade different. It seems 
then as if I meant to dwell on the idea of its 



HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 


IOI 


not being so conspicuous. I should thereby 
call attention to the wrong word. For 
somewhat as the end of a paragraph (page 
81) catches the ear and the eye, so the end 
of a sentence. Every sentence has some 
part that is the most important for carrying 
on the thought. If this word stands at the 
end of its sentence, it stands out. By stand¬ 
ing out it makes that sentence stronger; and 
it makes the whole paragraph clearer. For, 
just as the end of a paragraph is particularly 
the place for driving home the thought of 
that paragraph, so the end of a sentence 
ought to clinch that sentence ; and just as 
an emphatic close of one paragraph helps 
the reader to take the next step of the next 
paragraph, so the emphatic close of one sen¬ 
tence prepares the mind best for the next 
sentence. 

For we know in part , and we prophesy in 
Dart. But when that which is perfect is 
come, then that which is in part shall be done 
away. When I was a child , I spake as a 
child, I understood as a child, I thought as a 



102 


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child; but when I became a man I put away 
childish things. 

This case is the more obvious because it 
is extreme. But the same principle holds 
good where the emphasis is less marked. 
The eighth chapter of the Epistle to the 
Romans begins : — 

There is therefore now no condemnation 
to them which are in Christ Jesus (opening 
reference to the preceding chapter. See page 
83), who walk, not after the flesh hut after the 
Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in 
Christ Jesus hath made me free from the 
law of sin and death. For what the law 
could not do, in that it was weak through 
the flesh , God, sending his own Son in the 
likeness of sinful flesh , and for sin, con¬ 
demned sin in the flesh; that the righteous¬ 
ness of the law might be fulfilled in us who 
walk, not after the flesh , but after the Spirit. 
For they that are after the flesh , etc. 

The italics mark the method of carrying 
on the thought steadily. Each sentence 
strikes its most important word at its close, 


HOW TO PREPARE AN ESSAY 103 


and at the same time takes up some impor¬ 
tant word of the preceding sentence at its 
beginning. The effect is to make the im¬ 
portant words continually stand out. The 
first work in revising sentences, then, is to 
make their form express their thought clearly; 
the second work is to heighten this clearness 
by making their form mark the main words 
at the end. 


CHAPTER III 

HOW TO TELL A STORY 


Story-telling is the oldest and the most 
popular of all the arts. An art it is; for 
some people do it much better than others, 
and many people have improved in it by 
practice. The same events seem dull and 
tedious, or lively and interesting, according 
to the way in which they are told. And 
this familiar fact shows, not only that one 
way is better than another, but also that the 
first object of all stories is to be interesting. 
Other objects a story may have; for instance, 
to be instructive, as the stories in the Bible; 
or to be diverting, as many of the stories 
told in conversation; but these objects de¬ 
pend on the one main object. People will 
not be instructed or diverted unless they are 
interested. Whatever else a good story is. 


104 



HOW TO TELL A STORY 


105 


it must be interesting. To learn the art or 
skill of story-telling, then, is first and fore¬ 
most to learn how to tell events in such a 
way as to make people glad to hear, eager to 
hear more, and satisfied at the end. Why 
should you tell me a story at all? — why 
should I listen to you ? — except only because 
you, feeling in certain events a peculiar in¬ 
terest, can awaken and sustain in me the 
same interest. 


THE LOST SON 

(2 Samuel xviii) 

And David numbered the people that 1 
were with him, and set captains of thou¬ 
sands and captains of hundreds over them. 
And David sent forth the people, a third 2 
part under the hand of Joab, and a third 
part under the hand of Abishai, the son of 
Zeruiah, Joab’s brother, and a third part 
under the hand of Ittai the Gittite. And 
the king said unto the people, I will surely 
go forth with you myself also. But the 3 
people said, Thou shalt not go forth : for 
if we flee away, they will not care for us; 
neither if half of us die, will they care for 


io6 


HOW TO WRITE 


us; but now thou art worth ten thousand 
of us. Therefore now it is better that 
thou be ready to succour us out of the 
city. And the king said unto them, What 4 
seemeth you best I will do. And the 
king stood by the gate side; and all the 
people went out by hundreds and by 
thousands. And the king commanded s 
Joab and Abishai and Ittai, saying, Deal 
gently for my sake with the young man, 
even with Absalom. And all the people 
heard when the king gave all the captains 
charge concerning Absalom. 

So the people went out into the field 
against Israel; and the battle was in the 
wood of Ephraim. (And) the people of 7 
Israel were slain (there) before the ser¬ 
vants of David; and there was there a 
great slaughter that day of twenty thou¬ 
sand men. For the battle was there & 
scattered over the face of all the country ; 
and the wood devoured more people that 
day than the sword devoured. And Ab- 9 
salom met the servants of David. And 
Absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule 
went under the thick boughs of a great 
oak, and his head caught hold of the oak, 
and he was taken up between the heaven 


HOW TO TELL A STORY ioy 

and the earth; and the mule that was 
under him went away. And a certain io 
man saw it and told Joab, and said, Be¬ 
hold, I saw Absalom hanged in an oak. 
And Joab said unto the man that told n 
him, And, behold, thou sawest it, and 
why didst thou not smite him there to the 
ground ? and I would have given thee ten 
shekels of silver, and a girdle. And the i 2 
man said unto Joab, Though I should 
receive a thousand shekels of silver in 
mine hand, yet would I not put forth 
mine hand against the king’s son ; for in 
our hearing the king charged thee and 
Abishai and Ittai, saying, Beware that 
none touch the young man Absalom. 
Otherwise I should have wrought false- 13 
hood against mine own life; for there is 
no matter hid from the king, and thou 
thyself wouldest have set thyself against 
me. Then said Joab, I may not tarry 14 
thus with thee. And he took three darts 
in his hand, and thrust them through the 
heart of Absalom, while he was yet alive 
in the midst of the oak. And ten young 15 
men that bare Joab’s armour compassed 
about and smote Absalom, and slew him. 
And Joab blew the trumpet, and the peo- 16 


io8 


HOW TO WRITE 


pie returned from pursuing after Israel: 
for Joab held back the people. And they 17 
took Absalom, and cast him into a great 
pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap 
of stones upon him. And all Israel fled 
every one to his tent. 1 

Then said Ahimaaz the son of Zadok, 19 
Let me now run and bear the king tidings, 
how that the Lord hath avenged him of 
his enemies. And Joab said unto him, 20 
Thou shalt not bear tidings this day; 
but thou shalt bear tidings another day; 
but this day thou shalt bear no tidings, 
because the king’s son is dead. Then 21 
said Joab to Cushi, Go tell the king what 
thou hast seen. And Cushi bowed him¬ 
self unto Joab, and ran. Then said Ahi- 22 
maaz the son of Zadok yet again unto 
Joab, But howsoever, let me, I pray thee, 
also run after Cushi. And Joab said, 
Wherefore wilt thou run, my son, see¬ 
ing that thou hast no tidings ready ? But 23 
howsoever, said he, let me run. And he 

1 Now Absalom in his life time had taken and reared 18 
up for himself a pillar, which is in the king’s dale. 

For he said, I have no son to keep my name in remem¬ 
brance. And he called the pillar after his own name ; 
and it is called unto this day, Absalom’s place. 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


109 


said unto him, Run. Then Ahimaaz ran 
by the way of the plain, and overran 
Cushi. 

And David sat between the two gates. 24 
And the watchman went up to the roof 
over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up 
his eyes and looked, and behold a man 
running alone. And the watchman cried, 25 
and told the king. And the king said, 

If he be alone, there is tidings in his 
mouth. And he came apace, and drew 
near. And the watchman saw another 26 
man running; and the watchman called 
unto the porter, and said, Behold, another 
man running alone. And the king said, 
He also bringeth tidings. And the watch- 27 
man said, Methinketh the running of the 
foremost is like the running of Ahimaaz 
the son of Zadok. And the king said, 
He is a good man, and cometh with good 
tidings. And Ahimaaz called, and said 28 
unto the king, All is well. And he fell 
down to the earth upon his face before 
the king, and said, Blessed be the Lord 
thy God, which hath delivered up the 
men that lifteth up their hand against 
my lord the king. And the king said, 29 
Is the young man Absalom safe ? And 




IIO 


HOW TO WRITE 


Ahimaaz answered, When Joab sent the 
king’s servant, and me thy servant, I saw 
a great tumult, but I knew not what it 
was. And the king said unto him. Turn 30 
aside, and stand here. And he turned 
aside, and stood still. And, behold, Cushi 31 
came; and Cushi said, Tidings, my lord 
the king; for the Lord hath avenged thee 
this day of all them that rose up against 
thee. And the king said unto Cushi, Is 32 
the young man Absalom safe ? And 
Cushi answered, The enemies of my lord 
the king, and all that rise against thee to 
do thee hurt, be as that young man is. 
And the king was much moved, and went 33 
up to the chamber over the gate, and 
wept; and as he went, thus he said, O 
my son Absalom, my son, my son Absa¬ 
lom ! Would God I had died for thee, 

O Absalom, my son, my son ! 

This story, though it is part of a long 
history, is complete in itself. Though it 
is a chapter in the long life of David, it 
stands out distinctly by itself. We could 
follow it perfectly without knowing any more 
than is told here. That is the first requisite 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


III 


of a good story. It must be complete and 
entire, not a fragment, but a whole. The 
events of any man’s experience go on and 
on. They have their roots far back in the 
graves of his grandfathers, and farther and 
farther back. They have their conse¬ 
quences in the future as well as in the 
present. They have neither beginning nor 
end. But a story-teller must first of all 
select a beginning and an end. He must 
cut out a piece of life small enough to be 
recounted in an hour, a half-hour, even a 
quarter of an hour. He must so shape 
this piece as to make it complete for its 
purpose. He must put into it all that is 
necessary, leave out of it all that is not 
necessary, for its particular interest. Other¬ 
wise he has no story at all. Otherwise 
he is merely one of those who claim our 
attention to insignificant fragments, who 
never have done because they never bring 
anything to a point — who, in short, are 
bores. This story of one day in David’s 
life teaches us, first of all, to tell one story 


HOW TO WRITE 


112 

at a time. It urges us, whenever we claim 
people’s attention, to fix their attention on 
one particular point of interest, which we 
have settled beforehand, and which will 
make the story, whether it be long or short, 
stand out distinctly as complete in itself. 

I. Fixing One Point 
(a) FIXING ONE MAIN PERSON 

And the story here shows us just how 
this is done. In the first place, our atten- 
tion is centred on one person. The story 
does, indeed, tell of several persons,— David, 
Joab, Absalom, the soldier who first saw 
Absalom, Ahimaaz, Cushi, the watchman; 
but all the while the attention is fixed on 
David. We begin with him at the gate; 
we end with him at the gate; and all the 
while we feel with him. “ I would not 
put forth mine hand against the king’s son ; 
for in our hearing the king charged thee” 
(verse 12) reminds us of the king even 
when we are away from him in the field. 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 113 

The eagerness of Ahimaaz to run (verse 
19) is because of his reverent care for 
David. And through all the rest of the 
story we are with David. We hope against 
hope with him at the beginning. We watch 
with him at the gate. We wait with him 
upon the dreaded tidings. We grieve with 
him at the inevitable end. We know that 
it had to be because he knew that it had 
to be. Yet our interest is kept upon the 
fatal field because his was kept. The whole 
story is told with reference to one main per¬ 
son. It is David’s story. Whose story is 
it ? is the first question leading toward the 
fixing of one point of interest. Fix the 
one person with whom we are to feel. Put 
yourself in his place, that you may put us 
in his place. His character and motives 
will then determine the whole story. The 
first way to have one story is to have one 
main person. 

This is especially true of short stories, 
that is, of such stories as most people have 
occasion to tell. But it is true of all stories, 


1 



HOW TO WHITE 


114 

whatever their length, which leave a single 
impression. The Book of Ruth is single 
because it is dominated by the one character 
of Ruth. The apocryphal Book of Judith, 
again, is one story, because Judith is con¬ 
stantly put forward, because we are all 
through thinking and feeling with her; but 
the story of Abimelech (Judges ix) is several 
stories, because the main interest is some¬ 
times diverted to others. The story of Joab 
never comes out distinctly and separately at 
all, because Joab, for the purposes of the 
Bible history, is always a secondary charac¬ 
ter. It would be an interesting exercise to 
make from the history in 2 Samuel and 
1 Kings a story of Joab. For it would 
show clearly that story-telling does not 
always serve the purpose of history, and 
that the same material gives very different 
stories, according as this man or that is put 
forward as the dominant character. 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


1 15 


( b ) FIXING ONE MAIN EVENT 

But the fixing of one main character is not 
enough in itself to hold a story together as 
one. A story must also have one main event. 
It must end with one main scene which is its 
issue, or point, or climax. Neither Gid¬ 
eon (Judges vi-viii), nor Samson (Judges 
xiv-xvi) makes a single story, though each 
is dominated by one character; for neither 
is led all through to a single issue. But 
Gideon’s battle of the pitchers (Judges vii. 
1-22) makes one story ; and so does Sam¬ 
son’s captivity. For the one ends: “The 
three hundred blew the trumpets, and the 
Lord set every man’s sword against his fel¬ 
low, even throughout all the host; and the 
host fled.” And the other ends: “ And 
Samson said, Let me die with the Philistines. 
And he bowed himself with all his might; 
and the house fell upon the lords and all the 
people that were therein. So the dead which 
he slew at his death were more than they 
which he slew in his life.” In each case we 


HOW TO WRITE 


116 

are satisfied. Our interest is released. The 
story is finished. Anything further is another 
story. 

Of course to have a climax necessitates 
having a main character first. The climax 
is his climax. Literature has no stronger 
climax than that tragic “ my son, my son ! ” 
That is the issue of the story because it is 
the issue of the main character. The two 
are inseparable. Only it is always necessary 
to express the character finally in one vivid 
scene. Feeling and seeing with him all 
along, we are thus brought at last to 
one great moment where, if the story be 
strong, his final decision or action, his final 
triumph or agony, becomes ours—where 
we almost become the main character. In 
order to satisfy us so, — and we are hardly 
satisfied with less, —the story-teller must 
realise this scene with especial vividness. 
He must make us feel that we are there. 
He must see and feel that scene so distinctly 
in his imagination that he kindles our imagi¬ 
nations to see it and feel it too. For this 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 117 

scene is the whole story expressed in one 
moment. Until the story-teller has that 
scene before his mind as the issue of the 
whole action, as the way in which things are 
to come out, he hardly has a story at all. 
The climax makes the story. 

These scenes in which the story “ comes 
out,” as we say, are therefore the ones that 
stick in our minds. Joseph declaring him¬ 
self to his brethren (Genesis xlv), Samson 
tearing down the pillars, Jehu shouting up 
to the window where Jezebel looked out, 
“ Throw her down ” (2 Kings ix) — such 
scenes as these are vivid even in memory. 
On the other hand, stories no less rich in 
the possibilities of interest may be dim for 
lack of climax. Such is Abimelech (Judges 
ix), though as a tale of violence it might be 
very striking. And the climax, as it holds 
the reader, holds the writer also. Those 
stories which fasten our attention and fix 
themselves in our memories are the ones in 
which a distinct climax has so seized the 
writer's imagination as to control all his tell- 


n8 HOW TO WRITE 

ing by giving it a single direction. For the 
surest way to gain and hold attention is to 
focus it upon the issue of one main person 
in one main scene. 

II. Taking Hold 

Another means toward making a story 
single and complete in itself, in order to 
hold and increase the interest, is to begin 
at the right point. The point of beginning 
must be so chosen as to keep the attention 
on a small space. This is not so important, 
indeed, as to focus on one person and one 
climax scene ; but the one helps the other. 
The repetition of the words this day re¬ 
minds us that the whole tragedy of The 
Lost Son is compressed into one single day. 
So is the story of the conspiracy of Jehu 
(2 Kings ix). The action of the whole 
Book of Judith, after the historical introduc¬ 
tion, passes in five days. There is no doubt 
that this compression of time helps the 
reader’s imagination. And compression of 
time means the omission of as many events 



HOW TO TELL A STORY 


119 

as possible before the important action which 
is the heart of the story. To make a story 
interesting is to make the reader live over 
the events himself. He can more easily 
keep himself in imagination on the spot, if 
the spot is not often changed and the events 
do not cover much time. To make a story, 
as we have seen (page 111), is to cut out a 
little piece from the unending roll of life. 
And part of this art is to cut into the roll at 
the right place. 

Now as to art, as to narrative effect, the 
stories of the Bible differ greatly. Some of 
them seize on our imaginations; some do 
not. For of course the object of the Bible 
is not to tell stories, but to apply history. 
Its story-telling is quite by the way. That 
fact, however, makes it none the less prof¬ 
itable for us to discover how best to tell 
a story, by comparing the different means 
that produced these very different effects. 
And one of the most marked differences 
is in this very compression which comes 
from taking hold of the story at the right 


120 


HOW TO WRITE 


place for narrative, as distinct from historical 
or religious, interest. 

BRINGING HOME THE BRIDE 

(Genesis xxiv) 

And Abraham was old, and well i 
stricken in age; and the Lord had blessed 
Abraham in all things. And Abraham 2 
said unto the eldest servant of his 
house, that ruled over all that he had, 
Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my 
thigh; and I will make thee swear by 3 
the Lord, the God of heaven and the 
God of the earth, that thou shalt not 
take a wife unto my son of the daughters 
of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell; 
but thou shalt go unto my country, 4 
and to my kindred, and take a wife unto 
my son Isaac. And the servant said 5 
unto him, Peradventure the woman will 
not be willing to follow me unto this land. 
Must I needs bring thy son again unto 
the land from whence thou earnest ? 
And Abraham said unto him, Beware 6 
that thou bring not my son thither again. 
The Lord God of heaven, which took 7 
me from my father's house, and from the 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


121 


land of my kindred, and which spake unto 
me, and that sware unto me, saying, Unto 
thy seed will I give this land, — he shall 
send his angel before thee; and thou shalt 
take a wife for my son from thence. 
And if the woman be not willing to fol- 8 
low thee, then thou shalt be clear from 
this my oath; only bring not my son 
thither again. And the servant put his 9 
hand under the thigh of Abraham his 
master, and sware to him concerning that 
matter. 

And the servant took ten camels of the 10 
camels of his master, and departed (for 
all the goods of his master were in his 
hand); and he arose, and went to Meso¬ 
potamia, unto the city of Nahor. And n 
he made the camels to kneel down with¬ 
out the city by a well of water at the time 
of the evening, even the time that women 
go out to draw water. And he said, O 12 
Lord God of my master Abraham, I 
pray thee send me good speed this day, 
and shew kindness unto my master Abra¬ 
ham. Behold, I stand by the well of 13 
water; and the daughters of the men 
of the city come out to draw water; and 14 
let it come to pass that the damsel to 




122 


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whom I shall say, Let down thy pitcher, 

I pray thee, that I may drink; and she 
shall say. Drink, and I will give thy 
camels drink also; — let the same be 
she that thou hast appointed for thy ser¬ 
vant Isaac; and thereby shall I know 
that thou hast shewed kindness unto my 
master. 

And it came to pass, before he had is 
done speaking, that, behold, Rebekah 
came out, who was born to Bethuel, son 
of Milcah, the wife of Nahor, Abraham’s 
brother, with her pitcher upon her shoul¬ 
der. And the damsel was very fair to 16 
look upon, a virgin, neither had any man 
known her. And she went down to the 
well and filled her pitcher, and came up. 
And the servant ran to meet her, and 17 
said, Let me, I pray thee, drink a little 
water of thy pitcher. And she said, 18 
Drink, my lord; and she hasted, and 
let down her pitcher upon her hand, and 
gave him drink. And when she had 19 
done giving him drink, she said, I will 
draw water for thy camels also, until 
they have done drinking. And she 20 

hasted, and emptied her pitcher into the 
trough, and ran again unto the well to 



HOW TO TELL A STORY 


123 


draw water, and drew for all his camels. 
And the man, wondering at her, held 21 
his peace to wit whether the Lord had 
made his journey prosperous or not. 

And it came to pass, as the camels had 22 
done drinking, that the man took a golden 
earring of half a shekel weight, and two 
bracelets for her hands of ten shekels 
weight of gold, and said, Whose daughter 23 
art thou ? tell me, I pray thee. Is there 
room in thy father’s house for us to lodge 
in ? And she said unto him, I am the 24 
daughter of Bethuel, the son of Milcah, 
which she bare unto Nahor. She said 25 
moreover unto him, We have both straw 
and provender enough, and room to lodge 26 
in. And the man bowed down his head 27 
and worshipped the Lord. And he said, 
Blessed be the Lord God of my master 
Abraham, who hath not left destitute my 
master of his mercy and his truth. I being 
in the way, the Lord led me to the house 
of my master’s brethren. 

And the damsel ran, and told them of 28 
her mother’s house these things. And 29 
Rebekah had a brother, and his name was 
Laban ; and Laban ran out unto the man, 
unto the well. And it came to pass when 30 


124 


HOW TO WRITE 


he saw the earring and bracelets upon his 
sister’s hands, and when he heard the words 
of Rebekah his sister saying, Thus spake 
the man unto me,—that he came unto the 
man ; and, behold, he stood by the camels 
at the well. And he said, Come in, thou 31 
blessed of the Lord. Wherefore standest 
thou without ? For I have prepared the 
house, and room for the camels. And the 32 
man came into the house ; and he ungirded 
his camels, and gave straw and provender 
for the camels, and water to wash his feet 
and the men’s feet that were with him. 

And there was set meat before him to 33 
eat; but he said, I will not eat, until. I 
have told mine errand. And he said, 34 
Speak on. And he said, I am Abraham’s 
servant. And the Lord hath blessed my 3 s 
master greatly; and he is become great; 
and he hath given him flocks and herds, 
and silver and gold, and menservants and 
maidservants, and camels and asses. And 36 
Sarah, my master’s wife, bare a son to my 
master when she was old; and unto him 
hath he given all that he hath. And my 37 
master made me swear, saying, Thou shalt 
not take a wife to my son of the daughters 
of the Canaanites, in whose land I dwell; 



HOW TO TELL A STORY 


125 


but thou shalt go unto my father’s house, 38 
and to my kindred, and take a wife unto 
my son. And I said unto my master, 39 
Peradventure the woman will not follow 
me. And he said unto me, The Lord, 40 
before whom I walk, will send his angel 
with thee, and prosper thy way; and thou 
shalt take a wife for my son of my kindred, 
and of my father’s house. Then shalt thou 41 
be clear from this my oath, when thou com- 
est to my kindred ; and if they give not 
thee one, thou shalt be clear from my oath. 
And I came this day unto the well, and 42 
said, O Lord God of my master Abraham, 
if now thou do prosper my way which I 
go, behold, I stand by the well of water; 
and it shall come to pass that when the 43 
virgin cometh forth to draw water, and I say 
to her, Give me, I pray thee, a little water 
of thy pitcher to drink; and she say to me, 44 
Both drink thou and I will also draw for 
thy camels, — let the same be the woman 
whom the Lord hath appointed out for 
my master’s son. And before I had done 45 
speaking in mine heart, behold, Rebekah 
came forth with her pitcher on her shoul¬ 
der ; and she went down unto the well, 
and drew water ; and I said unto her, Let 



126 


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me drink, I pray thee. And she made 4 6 
haste, and let down her pitcher from her 
shoulder, and said, Drink, and I will give 
thy camels drink also. So I drank, and 
she made the camels drink also. And I 47 
asked her, and said, Whose daughter art 
thou? And she said, The daughter of 
Bethuel, Nahor’s son, whom Milcah bare 
unto him. And I put the earring upon 
her face, and the bracelets upon her hands. 
And I bowed down my head and wor- 48 
shipped the Lord, and blessed the Lord 
God of my master Abraham, which had 
led me in the right way to take my mas¬ 
ter’s brother’s daughter unto his son. And 49 
now if ye will deal kindly and truly with 
my master, tell me: and if not, tell me; 
that I may turn to the right hand, or to 
the left. 

Then Laban and Bethuel answered and 50 
said, The thing proceedeth from the Lord: 
we cannot speak unto thee bad or good. 
Behold, Rebekah is before thee. Take 51 
her, and go; and let her be thy master’s 
son’s wife, as the Lord hath spoken. 

And it came to pass that, when Abra- 52 
ham’s servant heard their words, he wor¬ 
shipped the Lord, bowing himself to the 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


127 


earth. And the servant brought forth 53 
jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, and 
raiment, and gave them to Rebekah. He 
gave also to her brother and to her mother 
precious things. 

And they did eat and drink, he and the 54 
men that were with him, and tarried all 
night. And they rose up in the morning, 
and he said, Send me away unto my mas¬ 
ter. And her brother and her mother said, 55 
Let the damsel abide with us a few days, 
at the least ten. After that she shall go. 
And he said unto them, Hinder me not, 56 
seeing the Lord hath prospered my way. 
Send me away that I may go to my mas¬ 
ter. And they said, We will call the dam- 57 
sel, and inquire at her mouth. And they 58 
called Rebekah, and said unto her, Wilt 
thou go with this man ? And she said, I 
will go. And they sent away Rebekah 59 
their sister, and her nurse, and Abraham’s 
servant, and his men. And they blessed 60 
Rebekah and said unto her, Thou art our 
sister; be thou the mother of thousands 
of millions ; and let thy seed possess the 
gate of those which hate them. And 61 
Rebekah arose, and her damsels, and they 
rode upon the camels, and followed the 



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man ; and the servant took Rebekah, and 
went his way. 

And Isaac came from the way of the 62 
well Lahai-roi; for he dwelt in the south 
country. And Isaac went out to meditate 63 
in the field at the eventide ; and he lifted 
up his eyes and saw, and, behold, the 
camels were coming. And Rebekah 64 
lifted up her eyes; and, when she saw 
Isaac, she lighted off the camel. For she 65 
had said unto the servant, What man is 
this that walketh in the field to meet us ? 
And the servant had said, It is my master. 
Therefore she took a vail and covered her¬ 
self. And the servant told Isaac all things 66 
that he had done. And Isaac brought her 67 
into his mother Sarah’s tent, and took 
Rebekah, and she became his wife; and 
he loved her. And Isaac was comforted 
after his mother’s death. 

This beautiful old tale, like most old tales, 
lacks the intensity of The Lost Son. The 
different manner is appropriate enough to 
the different subject. The one is full of 
hope and joy, the other of foreboding and 
pain. But the difference of effect is not 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 129 

simply in the subject; it is due also, it is due 
mainly, to the way of telling. The Lost Son 
issues in a climax scene so vivid as to burn 
into the memory ; but what is the climax of 
this elder tale ? Is it the meeting of Isaac 
and Rebekah ? That is the natural issue of 
the story as a story; but in the history it 
does not stand out at all. We cannot see 
the pair meeting. There is nothing for the 
imagination to lay hold of except Rebekah’s 
question, <c What man is this that walketh in 
the field to meet us ? ” and her pretty Ori¬ 
ental action of veiling herself. Isaac says 
nothing, does nothing distinct. The servant 
tells his tale for the third time. The rest is 
plainest statement of fact. There is no dis¬ 
tinct climax. 

That is the root reason of the difference ; 
but no less conspicuous is the lack of any 
one main character, and the childlike way of 
taking hold. The servant, though he is 
merely an instrument, has more space than 
any other person. The story begins with 
Abraham, who does not appear again. It 


130 


HOW TO WRITE 


tells of Abraham’s charge in nine verses, of 
the servant’s journey in one verse more, of 
his prayer in four verses more. So far, 
nothing has happened. Then begins the 
action, after one-fifth of the space is spent. 
Rebekah does as the servant had prayed, 
and he is brought to her house. This fills 
another fifth. Then the servant explains, 
repeating at length what the reader knows 
already. Three-fifths of the space being 
now filled, the remainder moves on in fairly 
steady action. The importance of taking 
hold at the right place, as a means of hold¬ 
ing the interest, may be proved quite simply 
by beginning to read at verse 15, or even 
at verse 28. Nothing is lost in clearness ; 
something is lost in picturesqueness; and 
something is gained in compactness. In 
order to hold the interest by compression, 
then, beware of beginning too far back. 

Another gain for story-telling from such a 
change in the way of taking hold would be 
that the story would then begin, as The Lost 
Son begins, with action. Interest is more 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 131 

readily awakened when something happens 
in the story at once. A story being made 
up of actions, we like to have action begin 
forthwith. But here it is plain that how to 
take hold depends upon fixing one main 
character and issue. If we are to begin 
with action, whose action? Very naturally, 
though not of course necessarily, action by 
the main character. So The Tost Son begins 
with David’s review of his army. Now if 
this older story were told as Rebekah’s 
story, it might well begin, from her point 
of view, with her going down to the well 
and meeting the stranger with his kneeling 
camels. And indeed the narrator seems to 
see Rebekah -— for we see her — more clearly 
than he sees any other person. But it was 
no part of his object to make a compact 
whole by making her determine the begin¬ 
ning and the end of his story. If he had, 
his tale might be not much more than half 
as long; and it would be much more intense. 
Though the pursuit of its proper object has 
left little room for considerations of art, even 


132 


HOW TO WRITE 


as art we may well prefer it as it stands, for 
its very simplicity. The point of any experi¬ 
ment would be, not to correct or improve, 
but only to produce a different effect. For 
the effect, the kind of impression made by a 
story, depends largely on the way of taking 
hold. 

III. Going On 

The same headings have served so far in 
this book to divide the subject for conven¬ 
ience. This means that all rules of compo¬ 
sition rest on a very few foundation prin jples. 
But the applications of these principles are 
more or less different for each kind. Fixing 
one point for a speech implies something 
stricter (page 63) than for an essay ; and for 
a story the difference is not merely in de- 
g ree . The one point of a speech can be 
summed up (page 8) in one sentence; the 
one point of a story is not at all of this 
kind. The point of The Lost Son cannot 
be summed up in a sentence. Yet one 
point it has, one point that we feel none the 
less because we cannot formulate it—one 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


133 


point, indeed, that we wish, not to formulate, 
but to feel. A good short story, like The 
Lost Son , makes one impression on the im¬ 
agination by making one dominant character 
issue in one striking event. A good essay 
or speech makes us think one way, or act in 
one way; a good story makes us feel in one 
way. It is aimed, not at our minds, not at 
our wills, but at our imaginations and feel¬ 
ings. 

(a) GOING ON IN A SPEECH AND GOING ON 
IN A STORY 

And this difference between the kinds of 
composition in the way of fixing one point 
brings about a corresponding difference in 
the way of going on. All kinds of compo¬ 
sition must have this quality of going on, 
but each kind in its own proper way. A 
speech or an essay progresses logically from 
one proposition to another proposition, and 
so finally to the main proposition. Each of 
its stages bears to the one before a logical 
relation which can be exactly formulated and 


134 


HOW TO WRITE 


charted (page 69) by reducing each stage to 
its underlying sentence. A story, on the 
other hand, progresses from one action to 
another action, and so finally to the main 
action or event. Its stages cannot be summed 
up in sentences making a logical progress; 
for its stages are actions made to strike the 
imagination. A story, since it tries, not to 
prove or explain an abstract principle, but to 
picture a concrete event, goes on, not by 
carrying forward the reason, but by carrying 
onward the imagination. It moves by being 
always in action; for, when the action lags 
or stops, attention lags or stops too. It 
moves on by choosing actions so significant 
that each stage makes us eager for the next, 
until the attention is released, and the im¬ 
agination satisfied, by the climax. 

A story must move, and it must move on. 
It is lively in proportion to the abundance 
of action, liveliest when there is always some¬ 
thing doing. It is intense in proportion as 
the actions lead the interest up and up with 
increasing suggestiveness towards the one 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


135 


goal of them all, the climax. So, in its own 
different way, a compact, intense story is just 
as carefully planned as a speech. Every 
event which is not suggestive enough to key 
up the imagination to a higher pitch is left 
out; and every event that is left in, as being 
likely thus to keep up the interest, is put in 
where it will strike the imagination most 
significantly. Such a story moves faster and 
faster as it nears its climax. Just before the 
climax is reached, it often slows down, as it 
were to increase the suspense, and then 
spends its best force in the final stroke of 
realisation. 

( 3 ) GOING ON AS THE AVOIDANCE OF 
INTERRUPTION 

What all this means practically may be 
seen by comparing the two stories before us. 
What makes The Lost Son move so much 
faster, and move on so much more di¬ 
rectly ? Largely, as we have seen (page 129), 
because of its more distinct issue or climax, 
and because of its more artful taking hold; 


136 


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but also because of its plan. Bringing Home, 
the Bride is slower because it has very little 
action. Very little is done before our eyes. 
The latter part is faster than the former 
mainly because from the time when the ser¬ 
vant has finally made his proposal (verse 49) 
we see something doing most of the time 
until the end. And again, this older story, 
instead of moving on steadily, is several 
times halted. We have to wait (verse 34) 
while the servant explains what we already 
know. Explanations always make a listener 
or reader impatient. He would rather guess 
at them, or let them pass, than be kept wait¬ 
ing. A clever story-teller, taking his cue 
from our natural desire to be moving, will 
study to avoid explanations. In the first 
place, he will find that some of them, as in 
this story, can be omitted altogether. In 
the second place, he will practise bringing in 
such explanation as is absolutely necessary by 
brief hints in the onward course of the action. 
He will make a single sentence in the dia¬ 
logue, or a speaking gesture, or a part of the 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 137 

action itself, suffice to keep us informed 
without keeping us waiting. 

For much of the art of story-telling con¬ 
sists in the suppressing of what is uninterest¬ 
ing. At the opening of The Lost Son , David 
says, “ I will surely go forth with you my¬ 
self also. But the people answered, Thou shalt 
not go forth. . . . And the king said . . . 
What seemeth you best I will do.” That 
tells us, just as clearly as a long explanation, 
how the king’s heart was torn between the 
dread of going in person against his rebel¬ 
lious son and the dread of losing his son for 
lack of his restraining presence. We know 
that he foresaw the inevitable doom, and yet 
struggled against it. And we know all this 
without any interrupting explanation. We 
know it by what he says and does in the 
onward course of the action. So, when the 
messenger remonstrates with Joab (verses 
10-13), the story does not stop to explain 
that the death of Absalom was nevertheless 
demanded by the exigencies of the time and 
the hard directness of Joab. We know all 


138 


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this, and, what is better, we feel it, simply 
from his characteristic words and action 
(verse 14): “ I may not tarry thus with thee. 
And he took three darts in his hand, 
and thrust them through the heart of Absa¬ 
lom.And, finally, we are so bent on the 
story that we feel verse 18 as an intrusion. 
It is history breaking in. It reads like a 
marginal note; and it is all the more con¬ 
spicuous because the story admits nothing 
else of this sort. In Bringing Home the 
Bride such an interruption would hardly be 
noticeable; for the teller of that story had 
no care to prune away the superfluous. 

( C ) GOING ON BY PROGRESSIVE PLAN 

So, to make a story move on is first of all 
to give it free course by clearing away all 
interruptions. This is the negative way, the 
way of omission. There is also a positive 
way, the way of construction. To make a 
story move on is also to plan its events in an 
ascending scale of interest and significance up 
to a final solution. This is above all, of 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


13 * 

course, to write for the climax. A story can¬ 
not well move on unless it moves toward the 
climax. The movement will not be steady 
and progressive unless it is directed. Each 
scene should tell us more of what is coming, 
and at the same time make us more eager to 
know how. For the climax of a good story 
at once seems inevitable and yet is not quite 
forecast. We have a foreboding of David’s 
agony, but we are not satisfied until that final 
going up to the chamber, and that final cry; 
and each scene carries us a step nearer to 
that, as if we were drawn fatally on. 

For see how each scene prepares us for the 
next and for the final issue — how we are led 
on step by step. First is the old king’s review 
of his loyal army as they go out to crush 
rebellion. Rebellion must be crushed ; but 
must the arch-rebel be crushed too ? Hop¬ 
ing against reason, the old king pathetically 
charges, “ Deal gently for my sake with the 
young man.” He is after all so young; and 
he is after all my son. At last the name is 
brought out, “ even with Absalom.” Here 


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we have the whole tragic situation; but we 
know nothing definitely of how it will be 
worked up. 

Then come the battle and the defeat, 
passed over rapidly because the story is of 
individuals. “ The wood devoured more 
people that day than the sword devoured.” 
What then ? We come at once to the main 
actors. Absalom in headlong flight is caught 
by the hair. Joab, with brutal frankness, 
cries, “ And behold thou sawest him? 
And why didst thou not smite him ? ” 
We begin to see how events will slip 
from David’s control because his chief¬ 
tains are too headstrong and too uncom¬ 
promising for him. The scene is more 
exciting, more intense, than the preceding. 
At the same time it is a thoroughly 
natural sequel. Joab smites. After that 
stroke ten others follow. Joab sounds the 
recall. He is not merely bloody. He has 
struck the chief. The rest are scattered. It 
is all over. 

No. What of the king now ? He is 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


141 

waiting, still miserably hoping. Up springs 
Ahimaaz, begging for the privilege of break¬ 
ing the news. But Joab thinks the friend’s 
way may not be the kindest, or perhaps he 
fears that version of his stroke. His words 
sound hesitant. He sends Cushi. But 
Ahimaaz still begs ; and Joab, still hesitating, 
lets him go. 

H ow will the king take it? This is the 
last scene. We see it with his eyes. We are 
taken back to the gate to watch the runners 
coming. There is increasing intensity of 
suspense here. First the watchman sights 
a moving speck. “ If he be alone,” says 
the king, “ there is tidings.” “ Behold an¬ 
other man.” “ He also,” says the breathless 
king, <c bringeth tidings.” cc The running of 
the foremost is like the running of Ahimaaz.” 
The king catches at a last straw. cc He is 
a good man, and cometh with good tidings. 
At last the king is face to face with the news. 
We lean forward with him as Ahimaaz cries 
victory. We hear his low question, “ Is the 
young man Absalom safe?” There is a 


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dreadful pause while Ahimaaz equivocates 
for love. The king knows. Does he not 
hear the ominous words “Joab” — “ tu¬ 
mult”? But he nerves himself. “Turn 
aside, and stand here.” He repeats his 
question to Cushi. The answer, still indi¬ 
rect, is but too plain. The bolt has fallen. 
Love and loyalty cannot parry it. “ And 
the king was much moved, and went up 
to the chamber over the gate, and wept; 
and as he went, thus he said, O my son 
Absalom, my son, my son Absalom ! would 
God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my 
son, my son ! ” Much of the tremendous 
force of this memorable climax is the force of 
momentum, the force of the movement that 
prepares us by increasing realisation, scene 
carrying us on to scene, and all to the last. 

( d ) GOING ON IN A STORY AND GOING ON 
IN A DRAMA 

An intense short story, then, goes on by 
going straight up to a climax at the end. 
This is its way. It is not, as we have seen, 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


143 


the only way to tell a story. It is not the 
way to tell a simple, leisurely tale or a chron¬ 
icle history. Nor is it the way, usually, 
to tell a story on the stage — in other words, 
to write a drama. Now of course the Bible 
is not concerned with writing plays any more 
than with writing stories. Still, just as it 
contains some passages that seize our imagi¬ 
nations, making us inwardly exclaim, What a 
story! so it contains other passages that 
strike our imaginations otherwise, making us 
feel, That would make a play. I can see it 
on the stage. In a word, some parts of the 
Bible are strikingly dramatic. 

What do we mean by a drama, as distinct 
from any other kind of story ? We mean 
an action that we should like to see before 
our eyes. We mean an action that seems to 
work itself out by people moving and talking 
together, and especially by the conflict of one 
human will with another human will. We 
mean an action leading to results that are 
not merely brought to a climax, as in a story, 
but worked out to a fuller conclusion. And 


144 


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we mean also, though we are usually less 
conscious of this, an action that can be 
worked out within the strict limits of a few 
scenes and a brief time. A long history with 
many changes of time and place never strikes 
us as dramatic. It does not come together 
in our imaginations enough for us to see it 
together on the stage, as it were in one even¬ 
ing. The story of Joseph, for instance, does 
not strike us as dramatic. It covers too 
many years and too many places. We can¬ 
not put it together before our imaginations 
on the stage. But the story of Esther at 
once strikes us as dramatic. It seems almost 
a drama as it stands. For the action is 
carried on by people almost visibly acting and 
talking; it presents a sharp conflict of wills ; 
and all its events are complicated and re¬ 
solved in one place — as it were on one 
scene, within a brief time. 

Some passages in this book of Esther 
almost stage themselves as we read. What 
dialogue could be more dramatic than the 
king’s with his favourite ? 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


145 


(Esther vi. 1-10) 

On that night could not the king sleep; 
and he commanded to bring the book of 
records of the chronicles; and they were 
read before the king. And it was found 
written that Mordecai had told of Bigthana 
and Teresh, two of the king’s chamber¬ 
lains, the keepers of the door, who sought 
to lay hand on the king Ahasuerus. 

And the king said, What honour and 
dignity hath been done to Mordecai for 
this ? 

Then said the king’s servants that minis¬ 
tered unto him, There is nothing done for 
him. 

And the king said, Who is in the court ? 

Now Haman was come into the out¬ 
ward court of the king’s house, to speak 
unto the king to hang Mordecai on the 
gallows that he had prepared for him. 
And the king’s servants said unto him, 
Behold, Haman standeth in the court. 

And the king said, Let him come in. 

So Haman came in. And the king said 
unto him, What shall be done unto the 
man whom the king delighteth to honour ? 

Now Haman thought in his heart, To 


146 


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whom would the king delight to do honour 
more than to myself? And Hainan an- 7 
swered the king, For the man whom the 
king delighteth to honour, let the royal s 
apparel be brought which the king useth 
to wear, and the horse that the king rideth 
upon, and the crown royal which is set 
upon his head; and let this apparel and 9 
horse be delivered to the hand of one of 
the king’s most noble princes, that they 
may array the man withal whom the king 
delighteth to honour, and bring him on 
horseback through the street of the city, 
and proclaim before him, Thus shall it be 
done to the man whom the king delighteth 
to honour. 

Then the king said to Haman, Make 10 
haste, and take the apparel and the horse, 
as thou hast said, and do even so to Mor- 
decai the Jew, that sitteth at the king’s gate. 
Let nothing fail of all that thou hast spoken. 

The king is intent of making good the 
omission of a state duty. Haman is equally 
intent on his own pride and vengeance. 
They talk at cross-purposes until Haman is 
suddenly stunned by a bolt out of the blue. 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


14 7 


Not only can he not avoid it, but he can¬ 
not even show any feeling. He is caught in 
a trap of his own vanity. And this dialogue 
is not only full of zest for a spectator, but 
also full of significance. It marks a cardinal 
point in the plot. 

Then took Haman the apparel and the n 
horse, and arrayed Mordecai, and brought 
him on horseback through the street of 
the city, and proclaimed before him, Thus 
shall it be done unto the man whom the 
king delighteth to honour. And Morde- 12 
cai came again to the king’s gate. 

But Haman hasted to his house mourn¬ 
ing, and having his head covered. And 13 
Haman told Zeresh his wife and all his 
friends everything that had befallen him. 
Then said his wise men and Zeresh his 
wife unto him, If Mordecai be of the seed 
of the Jews, before whom thou hast begun 
to fall, thou shalt not prevail against him, 
but shalt surely fall before him. 

And while they were yet talking with 14 
him came the king’s chamberlains, and 
hasted to bring Haman unto the banquet 
that Esther had prepared. 


148 


HOW TO WRITE 


This is exactly what we mean by a dra¬ 
matic situation. 

Even more intensely dramatic is the situa¬ 
tion to which it leads : -— 

vii 

So the king and Haman came to ban- 1 
quet with Esther the queen. 

And the king said again unto Esther 2 
on the second day at the banquet of wine, 
What is thy petition, queen Esther? and 
it shall be granted thee; and what is thy 
request ? and it shall be performed, even 
to the half of the kingdom. 

Then Esther the queen answered and 3 
said, If I have found favour in thy sight, 

O king, and if it please the king, let my 
life be given me at my petition, and my 
people at my request. For we are sold, 4 
I and my people, to be destroyed, to be 
slain, and to perish. But if we had been 
sold for bondmen and bondwomen, I had 
held my tongue, although the enemy could 
not countervail the king's damage. 

Then the king Ahasuerus answered and 5 
said unto Esther the queen, Who is he, 
and where is he, that durst presume in his 
heart to do so ? 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 14ft 

And Esther said, The adversary and 6 
enemy is this wicked Haman. 

Then Haman was afraid before the 
king and the queen. And the king aris¬ 
ing from the banquet of wine in his wrath 
went into the palace garden. And Ha- 7 
man stood up to make request for his life 
to Esther the queen; for he saw that 
there was evil determined against him by 
the king. 

Then the king returned out of the pal- 8 
ace garden into the place of the banquet 
of wine; and Haman was fallen upon the 
bed whereon Esther was. Then said the 
king, Will he force the queen also before 
me in the house ? 

As the word went out of the king’s 
mouth, they covered Haman’s face. 

It takes little imagination to picture this 
splendid scene. The setting of oriental mag¬ 
nificence is indicated in the first chapter: — 

(i. 6) 

Where were white, green, and blue 6 
hangings, fastened with cords of fine linen 
and purple to silver rings and pillars of 
marble. The beds were of gold and sil- 


HOW TO WRITE 


150 

ver, upon a pavement of red and blue 
and white and black marble. 

Against this background is the passion of 
Haman, at the summit of his ambition, but 
burning to break the last bar to his pride ; 
and the passion of Esther, nerving herself 
to make the supreme stroke for her race. 
The whole plot is gathered up in this in¬ 
tense moment. We are thrilled even by 
the reading; but how we should like to 
see it! 

How we should like to see it! That is 
another way of saying, How dramatic! And 
the Book of Esther gives us this feeling, not 
only here and there, but all through. Mor- 
decai’s refusal to bow to Haman (chapter iii. 
2); Mordecai’s lamentation (chapter iv. 1); 
Esther’s “ If I perish, I perish ” (chapter iv. 
16) — all these and many others we put in 
our imaginations upon the stage. We can¬ 
not see in this way the pastoral story of 
Ruth, nor even the intense story of Absa¬ 
lom ; but all the action of Esther seems to 




HOW TO TELL A STORY 151 

be set up in the eye of the world, visibly 
upon a stage. 

Actually to put the whole upon the stage, 
as a complete drama, would require a special 
skill, to be learned neither from the Bible, 
nor from any other book, but only from 
special study and practice. Still it is both 
stimulating and profitable to draw the main 
lines upon which such a drama might be 
built. Conceived as a drama of Esther , it 
might be constructed in three acts. Act I 
would have for its main situations the en¬ 
throning of Esther, Mordecai’s revelation 
of the conspiracy against the king’s life, and 
finally Mordecai’s refusal to bow to Haman. 
Act II would develop Hamans plot against 
the Jews; their dismay at his success, as 
shown in Mordecai’s lament; Mordecai’s 
charge to Esther; as a climax, Esther’s great 
resolution, “ If I perish, I perish”; and 
finally her appearance before the throne. 
Act III, opening with the scene between the 
king and Haman, quoted above, would go 
on to the banquet, the overthrow of Haman, 


152 


HOW TO WRITE 


and the triumph of Esther and her people. 
In bare outline this seems an entirely feasible 
plan. 

But there is another way of conceiving the 
drama, which would give it greater fulness 
and at the same time accord better with the 
Bible motive. Though the book is entitled 
Esther , it is primarily a national story, a 
story of the deliverance and triumph of the 
Jews. It commemorates the establishment 
of the great national feast Purim. And it 
may well be conceived as a national drama. 
This is further suggested by the fact that the 
clearest and strongest character in the Bible 
story is Mordecai. Suppose, then, that the 
drama be entitled Mordecai the Jew . 

Act I. The play opens in the court of the 
palace. A great banquet is going on within. 
Chamberlains pass back and forth, or stand 
talking. From their talk we learn of popular 
dislike of the Jews, and also of the advance¬ 
ment of Haman. Enter Mordecai. He 
evidently knows the palace and has the con¬ 
fidence of the chamberlains. He is a man 



HOW TO TELL A STORY 153 

of the world and a courtier; but his shrewd¬ 
ness, his courtesy, his whole life, as we are 
gradually made to see, has one great purpose, 
to promote the welfare of his people. Mor- 
decai enters with news; but, before disclosing 
it, he inquires of his friend the chamberlain 
Hegai concerning his foster-child Esther, 
whom, as a part of his great purpose, he has 
introduced into the household. As they talk, 
the whole court is startled by the news of 
Vashti’s refusal. This naturally suggests to 
Mordecai an opportunity to realise his plans 
more quickly. Perhaps, indeed, it is by 
some plot of his that Vashti has been led to 
her indiscretion. Still he does not forget 
his immediate purpose. He denounces the 
chamberlains Bigthana and Teresh as con¬ 
spirators, and succeeds in accomplishing their 
overthrow and the recording of his own 
name as a public benefactor. But, just at 
this moment of success, he is confronted by 
Haman, who is no less bent on plans of his 
own. Courtier though he is, Mordecai will 
not bow. The curtain goes down with the 


154 


HOW TO WRITE 


two main characters, the two opposing wills, 
looking each other in the eye. 

Act II proceeds with Haman’s rapid suc¬ 
cess, and unfolds his plot against the Jews. 
Meantime Mordecai, too, is succeeding. 
His plans emerge triumphantly in the splen¬ 
did coronation of Esther. A Jewess is queen. 
Though Mordecai is careful to conceal her 
race, he feels none the less secure. Then, 
by one of those contrasts which are the life 
of drama, comes the royal proclamation 
against the whole race. Mordecai is over¬ 
whelmed. His enemy passes him once 
more in triumph. Mordecai will not bow; 
but he is for the moment dazed by the mag¬ 
nitude of the calamity. 

Act III opens with Mordecai in sackcloth 
and ashes, crying “ with a loud and bitter 
cry.” The terror and shame of the whole 
race is summed up in his tragic lamentation. 
Ignoring all etiquette, and even the safety 
of his own life, he cries “even before the 
king’s gate.” The next scene, in an inner 
court, with Esther, reveals the man’s great- 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


155 


ness. Calamity nerves him. He stakes 
everything upon the intervention of the 
queen. He nerves her with his own forlorn 
courage. He inspires her with his spirit. 
For this scene must be between those two, 
that the dialogue may express the tragic in¬ 
tensity of the situation, — on the one hand 
the terrible will in sackcloth and ashes, on 
the other the beautiful favourite in her pride 
of silks and perfumes. “ Think not with 
thyself that thou shalt escape in the king’s 
house more than all the Jews. For if thou 
altogether holdest thy peace at this time, 
then shall there enlargement and deliverance 
arise to the Jews from another place.” It is 
a sublime faith. £C But thou,” —he will have 
no pity on the girl shrinking from death,— 
“ thou and thy father’s house shall be de¬ 
stroyed.” Then, seeing that he has domi¬ 
nated her, he finally appeals to all that is best 
in her: “ Who knoweth whether thou art 
come to the kingdom for such a time as 
this ? ” Esther promises. Mordecai has 
turned defeat to victory. In the next scene, 


1 56 HOW TO WRITE 

to Mordecai and his friends fasting and 
weeping without, comes the news that Esther 
has been received by the king. The follow¬ 
ing scene, the first banquet, is the climax ot 
the play. Haman is at the summit of his 
ambition. His plot has succeeded. He 
alone, of all the ambitious courtiers, is bidden 
to the queen’s feast. His pride is satisfied. 
But while Mordecai is without, hanging upon 
the issue, the king, suddenly reminded of an 
omission, asks Haman, <£ What shall be done 
to the man that the king delighteth to 
honour ? ” Haman, radiant with self-satis¬ 
faction, suggests the public honours that he 
knows must be meant for himself. Swiftly 
comes the dramatic reverse: “ Do even so 
to Mordecai.” The curtain falls again on 
the two enemies. The shadow of ruin touches 
Haman; and Mordecai sees hope. 

Act IV shows Haman’s furious rage cul¬ 
minating in his preparing the gallows. He 
is shaken; but, reassured by the second 
invitation, he goes to the banquet with 
pride unabated and revenge only sharp- 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 


15 ; 

ened by nearer expectation. Then comes 
the breathless suspense of the dialogue, 
“ What is thy petition, queen Esther?” cul¬ 
minating in the eloquent appeal of Esther, 
“We are sold, I and my people.” A dread¬ 
ful pause, while the amazed king says, “ Who 
is he ? ” Then retribution falls — “ this 
wicked Haman.” The rest of the act 
carries out the swift oriental vengeance — 
“ Hang him thereon.” 

Act V is the full and satisfying conclusion. 
Mordecai is elevated to higher and higher 
honour. The king, completely controlled 
by the will that acts through the queen, 
gives royal mandate to the Jews to stand 
for their lives. All their enemies are dis¬ 
comfited ; and the play ends with a pageant 
of national rejoicing. 

Without looking for those details of stage 
presentation which can be mastered only by 
study and practice in technic, we can dis¬ 
cern in such an experiment certain broad 
dramatic principles. First, a drama pro¬ 
ceeds by complication of the plot up to 





HOW TO WRITE 


i 5 8 

a certain point, and then by solution. It 
tangles purposes, so to speak, and then 
disentangles. And the solution may be as 
long as the complication. That is, the 
climax, instead of coming at the end, as in 
a story, is quite as likely to come in the 
middle. For in a drama we usually like 
to see the action, not only worked up, as 
in a story, but also worked out. In a 
story the action usually rises and then 
stops. The climax is so handled as to be 
also the conclusion, or to imply a conclu¬ 
sion that we do not greatly care to read. 
In a drama the action usually rises and 
then falls. The interest, of course, must 
be kept throughout; but the critical situa¬ 
tion is in the middle. There the fortunes 
of the main characters turn, from bad to 
good, from good to bad; and our interest 
after that is in seeing just how the doom 
will work out. 

Again, the very marrow of this rising and 
falling action is the conflict of two wills. 
The core of this drama is the character and 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 159 

action of Mordecai pitted against the char¬ 
acter and action of Haman. That is the 
motive power. It is what makes the several 
situations dramatic; it is what gives the dia¬ 
logue life; it is what keeps the whole play- 
moving. We are continually alert to see 
what each will do to the other. 

Finally, to make a story dramatic, to turn 
it into a play, usually compels the crowding 
of it into very small limits of place and time. 
It is no small part of the fitness of this story, 
as it stands, for presentation on the stage, 
that most of it happens in or near a single 
palace. But actually to put it on the stage 
would involve the omission of some events 
and the transposition of others. The jour¬ 
neys of the king’s messengers to distant prov¬ 
inces, for instance, and the action of the Jews 
in those provinces would not be visibly 
represented. So to do would be only to 
distract attention; and it would be quite 
unnecessary, for all this could be made 
plain enough by what is said and done on 
the main scene of action. It would be quite 


l6o HOW TO WRITE 

feasible also not to change the scene to 
Haman’s house for the sake of a dialogue 
between him and his wife Zeresh. Her 
influence also could be brought out in .he 
same way as the episode of the messengers. 
But the principle need not be carried out 
so strictly. It means simply to focus atten¬ 
tion by avoiding frequent or unnecessary 
changes of scene. 

The same principle holds true of time. 
The main action of the story as it is told 
in the Bible (chapters iii to vii) covers 
only five days. It is quite possible, and it 
would be a gain for dramatic intensity, to 
confine the whole drama within these limits. 
To make the time cover the actual historical 
time of chapters viii and ix would be 
to make it a whole year; to cover the actual 
historical time of chapters i and ii would 
add several years more. This would not 
make the play seem any more real. In 
fact, the play would seem less real; for the 
imagination would have to bridge gaps 
between acts and scenes, instead of being 


HOW TO TELL A STORY 161 

carried on rapidly. A play is not an his¬ 
torical document. By its very nature it 
involves compression. Events separated by 
place and time have to be brought together, 
because we have to see them on a single stage 
in a few hours. To leave long lapses may 
weaken or destroy the sense of progress 
without which a play falls into a mere set 
of detached scenes without any singleness 
of effect. To bring them together is a 
mere necessity toward that effect on which 
every play must depend for its success — 
the illusion of real life. 


CHAPTER IV 

HOW TO DESCRIBE 

A. THE TWO KINDS OF DESCRIPTION 

The word describe or description carries 
two meanings. It may mean to specify 
carefully In detail, as in the description of 
the tabernacle (Exodus xxv. 9-13). 

According to all that I shew thee, after 9 
the pattern of the tabernacle and the pat¬ 
tern of all the instruments thereof, even 
so shall ye make it. And they shall make 
an ark of shittim wood. Two cubits and a 10 
half shall be the length thereof, and a cubit 
and a half the breadth thereof, and a cubit 
and a half the height thereof. And thou n 
shalt overlay it with pure gold. Within and 
without shalt thou overlay it, and shalt 
make upon it a crown of gold round 
about. And thou shalt cast four rings of 
gold for it, and put them in the four cor- 
162 


12 



HOW TO DESCRIBE 


163 

ners thereof; and two rings shall be in the 
one side of it, and two rings in the other 
side of it. And thou shalt make staves of 13 
shittim wood, and overlay them with gold. 

Or again it may mean to suggest images, to 
call up pictures in imagination, as in this 
figure of the eagle (Deuteronomy xxxii. 11). 

As an eagle stirreth up her nest, flut- 
tereth over her young, spreadeth abroad 
her wings, taketh them, beareth them on 
her wings. 

The former kind of description requires 
accuracy. The words must be precise. The 
directions for the tabernacle are very like an 
architect's specifications for a house. They 
must be so precise that the builder cannot 
misunderstand. Therefore this kind of 
description is often supplemented by draw¬ 
ings. The other kind of description, too 
requires accuracy ; but it requires something 
more — vividness. The words must be sug¬ 
gestive. They must kindle the imagination. 
The former kind often makes part of an 


164 HOW TO WRITE 

essay; for it is really a kind of explanation. 
The latter kind more often makes part of a 
story; for, like the rest of a story, it appeals 
to the imagination. But either kind may 
occur in speech or essay or story. 

B. THE STUDY OF DESCRIPTION AS THE 
STUDY OF WORDS 

Thus it is plain at the start that description 
is not a separate kind of writing, but only an 
ingredient mixed into speech or essay or 
story. It has no form peculiar to itself; it 
fits into the form with which it is used. 
Therefore the guiding principles of the pre¬ 
ceding chapters — fixing one point, taking 
hold, etc., have no direct application to 
description. Indirectly, of course, they 
apply by controlling the whole of which the 
description is a part; but since to set forth 
such applications would bring out nothing 
new, we may dismiss these principles when 
we study what is peculiar to description. 
Properly and peculiarly, then, the study of 


HOW TO DESCRIBE 


l6$ 

description is a study, not so much of the 
larger groups, such as paragraphs, nor even 
of smaller groups, such as sentences, but 
rather of separate words and phrases. The 
proper study of description is to find the 
right word. 

I. The Right Word as the Precise Word 

The right word in the explanatory kind of 
description, as we have seen, is the precise 
word, the exact word. It comes from being 
strict with oneself, from patient use of the 
dictionary, and from having a large store of 
words. The books of the New Testament 
that are nicest in distinctions of words are 
the epistles of St. Paul; for he was the most 
learned of the apostles, the widest in his read¬ 
ing. His precision of phrase, though it can 
be fully appreciated, of course, only in the 
original Greek, appears even in the English 
translation, as for instance in the description 
of the workings of charity (page 77) and in 
the careful distinctions throughout the Epis¬ 
tle to the Romans. 



166 


HOW TO WRITE 


But the whole English Bible is a practical 
model of precision. Whatever defects of 
rendering there may be here and there are 
due largely to the limitations of language. 
As says the Prologue of the JVisdom of Jesus 
the Son of Sirach (Ecclesiasticus): — 

Pardon us wherein we may seem to come 
short of some words which we have laboured 
to interpret. For the same things uttered in 
Hebrew and translated into another tongue 
have not the same force in them. 

Successive revisions, as they have added 
nothing to the beauty, have added surpris¬ 
ingly little to the accuracy of what scholars 
call the Authorised Version, what we call the 
English Bible. Subsequent changes in ren¬ 
dering are due in many cases to changes in 
our own language since the time of King 
James. This means that the translators of 
that time honestly did their best. They 
tc laboured to interpret.” They patiently 
tried to find the right word. Our own lack 
of precision in writing is due chiefly to 


HOW TO DESCRIBE 


167 

laziness or hurry. We take up with the 
handiest word instead of searching for the 
right one. And indeed, for any one who 
studies it from this point of view, part of the 
moral influence of the English Bible is 
strict honesty in writing, a growing sense of 
responsibility for the right word. 

(a) THE STUDY OF PRECISION THROUGH 
TRANSLATION 

Incidentally there is a valuable hint for 
whoever knows any other language than 
his mother tongue. One of the best means 
toward gaining a store of words and nicety 
in the use of them is translation. To render 
French or Spanish or German, or any other 
foreign tongue, into English, and then pa¬ 
tiently to test the faithfulness of each word, 
and further to make the whole sound like 
the native tongue instead of blundering 
between the two, and then finally to try 
for something of the original spirit and 
force, — all this directly increases one’s 
practical mastery of precision. And since 


HOW TO WRITE 


168 

the Bible has been translated into all lan¬ 
guages, this sort of study may be varied 
by comparing two versions of the same 
passage. 

(J?) THE STUDY OF PRECISION THROUGH 
MEMORISING 

And the study to have the right word can 
be carried on through the English Bible by 
those who know no other language. One 
of the best ways to increase the store of 
words and the sense of their exact values 
is memorising. This simple and obvious 
method is unfortunately less common than 
in the days of our grandfathers. Yet there 
is no better corrective of random looseness, 
no better antidote for that shallow fluency 
which may pass for a while as good writing, 
but never gains firm mastery of words. 
Our choice of words is influenced uncon¬ 
sciously, but very largely, by what we 
habitually read. If we read little except 
newspapers and magazines, our words will 
not range beyond the talk of the day. If 


HOW TO DESCRIBE 


169 


we make ourselves familiar with writing 
that has stood the test of time, our own 
writing will become — bookish? No, it is 
a mistake to suppose that. Rather it will 
become, on the one hand homelier and 
stronger, and on the other hand more pre¬ 
cise. If any one doubts this, he may find 
it attested by the recorded experience of 
most men of letters. And the model that, 
more than any other, has helped them to 
find and form their own styles is the Eng¬ 
lish Bible. The simple way by which, more 
than any other, this model has been made 
practically effective is memorising. 

II. The Right Word as the Specific and Concrete 
Word 

Precision, then, is the foundation of all 
rightness in the choice of words. But 
when description aims, not merely to ex¬ 
plain, but also to suggest images, precision 
is not enough. That is, when we attempt 
that other and commoner sort of description 
(page 163) which appeals, not merely to the 


HOW TO WRITE 


170 

intellect, but also to the imagination, we must 
choose our words accordingly. “ When the 
children of Ammon/’ says the translation of 
the First Book of Chronicles (xix. 6), “ saw 
that they had made themselves odious to 
David . . . the children of Ammon sent 
. . . to hire them chariots and horsemen 
out of Mesopotamia.” The same situation 
is described in the Second Book of Samuel 
(x. 6); but the effect is different because 
of the difference in a single word: <c When 
the children of Ammon saw that they stank 
before David,” etc. “ Had made themselves 
odious ” is precise ; it satisfies the mind ; but 
“ stank ” is a stronger word. Stronger ? 
What do we mean by saying that a word 
is stronger? It is a homelier word. Some 
of us to-day may even find it too homely. 
But certainly it makes more impression. It 
brings the fact home (pages 20, 89). It 
strikes the imagination. It makes us, not 
merely comprehend, but almost see. And, 
as we have already observed, the words that 
do this are words that directly suggest sensa- 


HOW TO DESCRIBE 


171 

tions. They are words of particular sounds, 
motions, attitudes, colours, smells. Such 
words are called concrete and specific, as dis¬ 
tinguished from words like “ odious,” which 
are abstract and general. The stronger word 
is usually the more concrete and specific 
word. And since the object of that kind of 
description which we are now considering is 
to kindle the imagination, to bring the fact 
home, — in a word, to be strong, naturally 
its habit of words is specific and concrete. 

Concrete and specific words are so strongly 
descriptive that some of the best-remembered 
passages throughout the Old Testament have 
fastened themselves upon our minds for this 
reason. The doom of mankind is thus writ¬ 
ten (Genesis iii. 19): — 

In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat 
bread, till thou return unto the ground; for 
out of it wast thou taken. For dust thou 
art, and unto dust shalt thou return. 

The exile of Hagar makes a picture (Gen¬ 
esis xxi. 14) : — 


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And Abraham rose up early in the morn¬ 
ing, and took bread and a bottle of water, 
and gave it unto Hagar, putting it on her 
shoulder, and the child, and sent her away — 

and the same method pictures the meeting 
(page 121) of Abraham’s servant with Re- 
bekah (Genesis xxiv): — 

And he made his camels to kneel down n 
without the city by a well of water at the 
time of the evening, even the time when 
women go out to draw water. 

And she said, Drink, my lord; and she 18 
hasted, and let down her pitcher upon her 
hand, and gave him drink. 

And the man came into the house. 32 
And he ungirded his camels, and gave 
straw and provender for the camels, and 
water to wash his feet and the men’s feet 
that were with him. 

The completeness of the possession of the 
promised land is brought home by the words 
of the promise (Joshua i. 3): — 

Every place that the sole of your foot shall 
tread upon, that have I given unto you, as I 
said unto Moses — 




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173 


and, in the same way, the subjection of the 
Gibeonites (Joshua ix. 21): — 

And the princes said unto them, Let them 
live; but let them be hewers of wood and 
drawers of water unto all the congregation. 

Poverty is a vague, general term. Famine 
is more specific, and therefore more sugges¬ 
tive. But what famine really means the 
words of the widow of Zarephath make us 
feel (1 Kings xvii. 12) : — 

And she said, As the Lord thy God liveth, 
I have not a cake, but a handful of meal in a 
barrel, and a little oil in a cruse; and behold, 
I am gathering two sticks, that I may go in 
and dress it for me and my son, that we 
may eat it, and die. 

The triumphant honour of Mordecai is ex¬ 
pressed for us, not merely to know, but to 
feel by seeing (Esther viii. 15): — 

And Mordecai went out from the pres¬ 
ence of the king in royal apparel of blue and 
white, and with a great crown of gold, and 
with a garment of fine linen and purple. 


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And the suggestive force of the concrete is 
felt nowhere more keenly than in the de¬ 
scription of Esther’s banquet (see page 149). 

As the word went out of the king’s mouth, 
they covered Haman’s face. 

(a) FIGURES OF SPEECH 

The first of these passages and the last 
one show that the concrete and specific are 
often used, not only as literal description, 
but also as symbols. cc In the sweat of thy 
face shalt thou eat bread ” does more than 
merely picture Adam’s actual toil; it is 
a symbol of the labour of humanity, the 
struggle for life. “They covered Haman’s 
face ” does more than merely picture a par¬ 
ticular action. It is a symbol of Haman’s 
doom. Without further explanation we 
know that his end had come. And we all 
make greater or less use of the concrete and 
specific, not as literal, but as symbolic. Such 
a use of words is called a figure of speech. 
We all use figures of speech to make our 



HOW TO DESCRIBE 


175 


expressions stronger. We say, “He had to 
sweat for that,” as a stronger way of saying 
that he had to make great efforts. We say 
a child is “ lively as a cricket,” in order to 
stimulate our hearer’s imagination by a com¬ 
parison. We even dispense with the words 
of comparison, merely implying them : “ That 
child is a cricket.” Figures of speech are 
natural means of liveliness. 

As a matter of temperament, some people 
use more figures than others. Things appeal 
to them more pictorially. They are more 
imaginative. And the same is true of whole 
races. Orientals are usually more figurative 
than the colder western and northern races. 
That is one reason for the abundance of fig¬ 
ures in the Old Testament. The Hebrews 
had a racial habit of figures. This oriental 
character of the Bible stands out most strik¬ 
ingly in The Song of Solomon; but it appears 
in all the other poetical books, such as the 
Psalms and Prophets , and, in lesser degree, 
throughout the Old Testament. Reho- 
boam speaks in figures to the deputation 


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that waited upon him at his accession to the 
throne (1 Kings xii. 10-11): — 

And the young men that were grown up 
with him spake unto him, saying, Thus shalt 
thou speak unto this people that spake unto 
thee, saying, Thy father made our yoke 
heavy ; but make thou it lighter unto us, — 
thus shalt thou say unto them, My little 
finger shall be thicker than my father’s loins. 
And now whereas my father did lade you 
with a heavy yoke, I will add to your yoke. 
My father hath chastised you with whips ; 
but I will chastise you with scorpions. 

And the natural expression of Hebrew 
poetry is seen in this description of the 
war-horse (Job xxxix. 19-25): — 

Hast thou given the horse strength ? 
Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder ? 
Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshop¬ 
per ? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. 
He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his 
strength. He goeth on to meet the armed 
men. He mocketh at fear, and is not af¬ 
frighted ; neither turneth he back from the 
sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the 



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177 


glittering spear and the shield. He swallow- 
eth the ground with fierceness and rage; 
neither believeth he that it is the sound of 
the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, 
Ha, ha ! and he smelleth the battle afar off', 
the thunder of the captains, and the shout¬ 
ing. 

This is splendid; but in prose, and by a 
modern man speaking English, it would 
seem extravagant, because it would seem un¬ 
natural. There at once we see a strict limit 
to the use of figures. They must always be 
natural to the writer and the occasion. Else, 
instead of being strong, they will be weak or 
even ridiculous. Any expression that sounds 
artificial — and by that we mean any expres¬ 
sion that seems to be lugged in for its own 
sake—-can never be really strong; for, in¬ 
stead of kindling the reader’s imagination, 
it will then distract his attention by offend¬ 
ing his taste. 

Besides, it is a mistake to suppose that 
figures are necessary to strength. They 
may, indeed, be a means of strength; but 


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they are not a necessary means. The figur¬ 
ative use of the specific and concrete is strong 
sometimes ; it is the literal use that is strong 
always. Those oft-quoted words of Job 
(xix. 26) — 

And though after my skin worms destroy 
this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God —- 

may be taken figuratively; but they were 
doubtless intended literally. And even 
Hebrew poetry often gets its picturesque 
force literally (Psalm civ. 10-18): — 

He sendeth the springs into the valleys, 
which run among the hills. They give drink 
to every beast of the field : the wild asses 
quench their thirst. By them shall the fowls 
of the heaven have their habitation, which 
sing among the branches. He watereth the 
hills from his chambers : the earth is satisfied 
with the fruit of thy works. He causeth the 
grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the 
service of man ; that he may bring forth food 
out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad 
the heart of man, and oil to make his face 
to shine, and bread which strengtheneth 


HOW TO DESCRIBE 


179 


man’s heart. The trees of the Lord are full 
of sap; the cedars of Lebanon, which he 
hath planted. There the birds make their 
nests: as for the stork, the fir trees are her 
house. The high hills are a refuge for the 
wild goats; and the rocks for the conies. 

The moral for the modern student is to put 
away the notion that he cannot be strong 
without figures, and to depend in most cases 
rather upon the literal. 


III. The Right Word as Personal 

(a) SINCERE EXPRESSION 

The moral is deeper than that. It is not 
to use any means of strength that one cannot 
use naturally. Take this as a parable for 
writing (1 Samuel xvii. 3 8-39) : — 

And Saul armed David with his armour; 
and he put a helmet of brass upon his head; 
also he armed him with a coat of mail. And 
David girded his sword upon his armour, 
and he assayed to go ; for he had not proved 
it. And David said unto Saul, I cannot go 


I go HOW TO WRITE 

with these; for I have not proved them. 
And David put them off him. 

At bottom, strength of expression is power 
to express oneself. The greatest single lesson, 
perhaps, that the Bible teaches concerning 
the use of words is sincerity. The literary 
force of the Bible, even in translation, con¬ 
sists mainly in its sincerity. Its writers were 
overpowered by what they had to say. How 
they were to say it meant to them only and 
singly how to deliver the message, how to 
bring it home. They did not think whether 
this or that expression would give pleasure, 
but only whether it would give truth. And 
at bottom all the best writing is controlled 
by that honest purpose to tell the truth. 
The best writers will not turn aside to make 
us wonder at a phrase; they are too much 
wrapped up in the intention to make us see 
and feel what they see and feel. 

So the object in studying how they chose 
their words to fulfil this sincere purpose is 
only to enable you to fulfil your own sin- 



HOW TO DESCRIBE l8l 

cere purpose. The study of models is not 
copying. It is not carrying away phrases to 
patch on your own work. It is a study of 
method. It is an examination of the ways 
in which their message is expressed so clearly 
and so strongly. I will not use the apostle's 
phrase “ sounding brass and tinkling cymbal ” 
(page 77); for it is not mine. It does not 
sound like me. But I will remember that a 
figure of speech — some other figure equally 
simple, and more natural to me — may help 
me to put some abstract idea of mine more 
strongly. I will not say “ a land flowing with 
milk and honey ” (Exodus iii. 8); but, because 
I have learned the force of that way of talking 
(see pages 20, 89), I may speak of alkali and 
sage-brush instead of using some vague gen¬ 
eral term like desert , or desolation , or barren¬ 
ness. And, in fact, this is precisely how the 
Bible has served as a model of style, not only 
in later times, but even to some of the Bibli¬ 
cal writers themselves. The expression of 
the apostles is often enlivened by turns of 
phrase learned from the prophets. Natu- 


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rally they often quote from the earlier scrip* 
tures; but, quite beyond mere quotation, their 
preaching is enlivened and enforced by their 
familiarity with Isaiah and Habbakkuk, with 
Amos and Malachi. They did not copy. 
They were not trying to put in patches of 
style. They were too sincere for anything 
of that sort. But they did learn from the 
Bible how to write. 

(b) ORIGINAL EXPRESSION 

And this expressing of oneself personally has 
another aspect than sincerity. To express one¬ 
self personally is the way of sincerity; it is also 
the way of distinction. If I describe a scene 
just as everybody else describes it, I shall 
hardly be sincere — unless I was so unfor¬ 
tunate as to see only what everybody saw — 
and I shall certainly be dull. What makes 
a writer interesting is usually some expression 
of himself. It is oftener this than any nov¬ 
elty of experience. The letters that you 
enjoy most do not come, probably, from 
Morocco or China. They tell no marvels. 



HOW TO DESCRIBE 


1*3 


They talk of such things as you yourself 
have about you daily. But they make these 
common things interesting by expressing 
their significance to the writer. An incident 
may seem significant or insignificant accord¬ 
ing to the way in which it is expressed. 
Some people will so describe marketing, or 
a railway journey, or labourers in a ditch, as 
to hold attention and awaken feeling. These 
are the people whose talk we seek, whose 
letters we look for; and the best of them are 
those whose books we read. They compel 
attention, they win distinction, by express¬ 
ing themselves. 

Can the rest of us learn their art ? Most 
people cannot be original in speech, because 
they do not really wish to express themselves. 
Most people are content to talk like their 
neighbours. They do not covet distinction. 
But some can. Indeed, it might be said 
with little exaggeration that all can who will. 
For the very impulse to express oneself is 
one sign of capacity. It is only just to 
assume that all who read this book have 




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impulse enough to carry them out of the 
commonplace. And, given the impulse, the 
rest can be learned. 

Of the rest that is to be learned, the first 
part of originality is observation. Our inter¬ 
esting friends see and hear what we miss. 
What the prophet meant figuratively, of 
moral dulness, might be taken of many 
people literally (Isaiah vi. 10, as quoted in 
Acts xxviii. 27) : —■ 

The heart of this people is waxed gross, 
and their ears are dull of hearing, and their 
eyes have they closed. 

Their talk is dull because their life is dull. 
They are half dumb because they are half 
deaf and half blind. They do not mark how 
the rain booms on a great stretch of wooden 
roof, hisses in dry grass, drums on a window, 
chuckles in a drain. For them it is only 
rain, a very ordinary matter, not worth any 
more attention than <c Wet day!” or “Bad 
weather! ” “Is it going to clear before 
night ? ” A dull city company at table on a 


HO IV TO DESCRIBE 


I8 5 


rainy day, after exchanging sad words like 
this, may be much enlivened by the teacher 
who tells of the attitudes of school children 
struggling with umbrellas at gusty corners, 
laughing in high trebles, of smoke torn in 
shreds from high chimneys, of the police¬ 
man’s glistening cloak, of the sodden smell 
of crowded cars, of a newsboy covered with 
an old sack, of the lines of downpour slant¬ 
ing across the park and the shifting lines of 
the trees beneath, — even of such smaller 
things as the whipping of puddles across the 
smooth asphalt,—in a word, of actual seeing 
and hearing. The rest of the company 
wonder again how so much can be made of 
so little; but the same interest will be open 
to them just in proportion as they train their 
own senses. 

(Job xxviii. 7-11) 

There is a path which no fowl knoweth, 
and which the vulture’s eye hath not seen. 
The lion’s whelps have not trodden it, nor 
the fierce lion passed by it. He putteth 
forth his hand upon the rock; he over- 


HOW TO WRITE 


186 

turneth the mountains by the roots. He 
cutteth out rivers among the rocks; and his 
eye seeth every precious thing. He bindeth 
the floods from overflowing; and the thing 
that is hid bringeth he forth to life. 

How profound an observation of the 
larger processes of nature, and how deep a 
significance! So Psalm civ (page 178) ex¬ 
presses the joy of life in the good gifts of 
the material world. For it is not merely 
the physical impressions that need to be 
cultivated ; it is their significance. Dulness 
is not merely of ear and eye, but of heart. 
“ The heart of this people is waxed gross.” 
The fundamental interest of writing, be¬ 
cause it is the fundamental interest of life, is 
human interest. And human interest is in¬ 
finitely large and manifold, and inexhaustibly 
new for each observer. A smile, the large 
gesture of a fruit-pedler, a babe asleep in a 
washerwoman’s lap, a scrap of conversation 
between two labourers, the hard mechanical 
replies of a ticket-seller, the bare muscles of 
a man feeding a threshing machine, the 



HOW TO DESCRIBE 


187 


pallor of a shop girl — things too small to 
be noticed by gross hearts — are eloquent to 
a sympathetic observer of human nature, and 
will become significant in his expression. 

Not only is life so changed for each gen¬ 
eration as to need new interpretation of old 
emotions in their new guise, but it has its 
fresh significance for each individual observer. 
Even if all cultivated and trained their obser¬ 
vation, still all would not talk alike, would 
not say the same words, would not re¬ 
ceive the same impressions. For no two 
of us can receive exactly the same im¬ 
pressions. Each according to his physical 
aptitude is more keenly aware of some parts 
of the manifold throng of impressions than 
of others. You see the lines of rain and 
smoke and leaning pedestrians, while I rather 
hear the watery swirl, or smell the washed 
air. And the suggestions from these sen¬ 
sations also differ with the individual bent. 
The laughter of the struggling children sug¬ 
gests to one the joy of abundant young life, 
to another its carelessness, to another its 


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escape from crowded tenements. And if each 
one describes as he himself sees and hears 
and feels, if he is faithful to his own impres¬ 
sions and suggestions, he is in the way of 
describing differently; he is in the way of 
distinction, the way of originality. 

Our English Bible, being a translation, of 
course cannot keep all the personal quality 
of the original (see page 166). But the faith¬ 
ful endeavour to render the spirit and feeling 
of the original, as part of its meaning, 
evidently gave the translators so unusual an 
impulse toward style that their rendering 
became itself a masterpiece of expression. 
They came, that is, remarkably near to trans¬ 
lating style ; and they achieved a style of 
their own. So their translation, for thou¬ 
sands of people ignorant of the original 
tongues, has been very fitly a model of ex¬ 
pression. Though they were not expressing 
themselves, they so entered into sympathy 
with what they sought to express as to give 
their writing that which is the foundation of 
style, — personal tone. 


HOW TO DESCJUBE 


189 


Living in the same world, using the same 
language, all who will may thus attain some 
measure of personal expression. What to 
one man is sharp to another is shrewd , to 
another biting , to another corrosive. And 
the faithful attempt to find the right word 
brings gradually both more words to choose 
from and keener sense of their values. But 
observe that the right word is the word 
that is right for you, the word that suggests 
at once the particular physical aspect to your 
senses and at the same time the significance 
to your feeling. The right word for you is 
the word that is in tune with your impres¬ 
sion. Biting may not be right for you, 
because you wish to convey rather the im¬ 
pression of stimulus. The wind was biting 
to your companion ; but to you it was keen 
or eager. It stung his blood; but it made 
your blood dance. Almost every word thus 
carries with it, beside its literal, dictionary 
meaning, associations that make it right or 
wrong for a particular impression. That 
strong word stank (page 170) would be too 


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strong for some places. It would not do. 
It would jar upon an impression of restraint 
It would be out of tune. Moreover, the 
associations of some words have changed with 
the times. The psalmist’s cry, “ I have roared 
by reason of the disquietness of my heart” 
(Psalm xxxviii. 8), gives us now the wrong 
association. In its figurative use we now 
associate the word roar with humour rather 
than with pathos. It makes us smile. So 
the Bible word naughty , since we associate it 
now with wayward children, makes us smile 
sometimes at solemn passages. The right 
word, then, is the word that has both the pre¬ 
cise meaning and also the right association. 

■ 

IV. The Right Word as the Homely and Simple 
Word 

Since our modern speech has lost some¬ 
thing in liveliness by the neglect of old 
familiar words, the study of the homely 
language of the Bible is a tonic for tame¬ 
ness. The homely word is not right always, 
but it is often. As the study of the English 



HOW TO DESCRIBE 


191 

Bible increases the range of vocabulary in 
genera], so it stimulates in particular the use 
of homely words for homely facts. 

(Genesis xlix. 33) 

And when Jacob had made an end of 
commanding his sons, he gathered up his 
feet into the bed, and yielded up the ghost, 
and was gathered unto his people. 

No finer language could make that more 
impressive. Even the poetic figures of the 
Bible often have a startling homeliness. 


(Job xxxviii. 8-9) 

Or who shut up the sea with doors, when 
it brake forth, as if it had issued out of the 
womb ; when I made the cloud the garment 
thereof, and thick darkness a swaddling band 
for it ? 

And so have many passages of concrete literal¬ 
ness, such as Psalm civ (page 178). 

Another aspect of this homeliness is sim¬ 
plicity. We are sometimes led to believe 
that the deeper emotions, the facts of great 


192 


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import, will be made more significant by fine 
long words. The English Bible teaches us 
quite otherwise. The cry of David at the 
end of the day (page iio) we feel as the 
right expression of his agony. Yet it is 
altogether simple. Like it is the cry of 
Esau (Genesis xxvii. 34) — 

And when Esau heard the words of his 
father, he cried with a great and exceeding 
bitter cry, and said unto his father, Bless me, 
even me also, O my father — 

and the resolution of Esther (Esther iv. 16) — 

Go, gather together all the Jews that are 
present in Shushan, and fast ye for me, and 
neither eat nor drink three days, night or 
day. I also and my maidens will fast like¬ 
wise ; and so will I go in unto the king, 
which is not according to the law. And 
if I perish, I perish. 

The most extended example of the force 
of simplicity is the Book of Ruth. The 
deep human pathos and joy of this pastoral 


HOW TO DESCRIBE 


193 


story are enhanced, not by any high-sound¬ 
ing phrase, but by strictly keeping to such 
words as we all learned from our mothers 
(Ruth i 8—17): — 

And Naomi said unto her two daughters 8 
in law, Go, return each to her mother’s 
house. The Lord deal kindly with you, 
as ye have dealt with the dead, and with 
me. The Lord grant you that ye may 9 
find rest, each of you in the house of her 
husband. Then she kissed them; and 
they lifted up their voice, and wept. And 10 
they said unto her, Surely we will return 
with thee unto thy people. And Naomi u 
said, Turn again, my daughters. Why 
will ye go with me ? Are there yet any 
more sons in my womb, that they may be 
your husbands? Turn again, my daugh- 12 
ters ; go your way; for I am too old to 
have an husband. If I should say, I have 
hope; if I should have an husband also 
to-night, and should also bear sons; 
would ye tarry for them till they were 13 
grown? Would ye stay for them from 
having husbands? Nay, my daughters; 
for it grieveth me much for your sakes 


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that the hand of the Lord is gone out 
against me. And they lifted up their 14 
voice, and wept again ; and Orpah kissed 
her mother-in-law; but Ruth clave unto 
her. And she said, Behold, thy sister-in- 15 
law is gone back unto her people, and 
unto her gods. Return thou after thy 
sister-in-law. And Ruth said, Entreat 16 
me not to leave thee, or to return from 
following after thee. For whither thou 
goest, I will go ; and where thou lodgest, 

I will lodge. Thy people shall be my 
people, and thy God my God. Where 17 
thou diest, will I die, and there will I be 
buried. The Lord do so to me, and 
more also, if ought but death part thee 
and me. 

What scene in literature is more affecting ? 
And what is described more simply ? 

If such effects are to be had simply, it 
may seem easy to write, so soon as one has 
caught this idea. But it is not easy; for 
they are not to be had simply. They are 
simple; but they cost labour. It is no 
easier to write simply than to live simply. 
Both require courage and perseverance. 


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195 


Simple writing is to be found rather in 
great books than in newspapers, and rather 
in the mature than in the young. It comes 
from faithful striving. Some natures seem 
to have an inborn knack for it. These 
acquire it faster; but even these must con¬ 
firm the tendency in a habit. The way is 
primarily to put aside all affectation, all use 
of words for their own sake; to fix one’s 
attention more and more strictly on what 
he is trying to say; to try to make the 
words more and more like a transparent 
medium. Not much progress can well 
be made until the elementary principles of 
writing, the principles set forth in the pre¬ 
ceding chapters of this book, have become 
so familiar by practice as to be instinctive, 
— until, that is, a writer is not balked and 
brought to a stand by ignorance of how to 
express his thought and feeling at all. But 
even at the start the ideal of simplicity is 
salutary; for its influence is like the in¬ 
fluence of that larger ideal which includes 
all that is best worth striving for in ex- 


196 


HOW TO WRITE 


pression — sincerity. Most men, if they 
honestly study to make their expression 
correspond more and more to a sincere 
intention, will find themselves gaining more 
and more of the ability to be simple. 

V. The Right Word as the Apt Word 

The ability to be simple, not the necessity. 
Simplicity is not always possible. The 
Epistle to the Romans cannot say simply 
what it has to say. What has to be ex¬ 
pressed— and that includes the emotion and 
mood as well as the thought — controls the 
whole way of expressing it. Writing is a 
means to an end; and the end controls the 
means. Therefore the only constant quality 
of style is sincerity. For the rest, just as the 
form varies with the kind, for speech or 
essay or story (page 133), so the choice of 
words. The style of the Book of Ruth is as 
different as can be from the style of Isaiah. 
Of course the difference is primarily a dif¬ 
ference of authors. It is interesting to mark 
the differences of style, even in translation, 


HOW TO DESCRIBE 


19 7 


between an epistle of St. Paul, for instance, 
and one of St. James or St. John. It is a 
difference of personality. But the same 
author will write quite differently in different 
forms for different ends. St. Paul’s familiar 
Epistle to Philemon differs widely in style 
from his doctrinal Epistle to the Romans. 
And part of the practice of writing for us all 
must be directed toward such adaptation. We 
must beware of fixing our expression in man¬ 
nerisms. We must learn to choose words 
whose associations are right (page 189), not 
only for us individually, but also for the occa¬ 
sion. The most convenient practice toward 
this end is afforded daily by letters. To make 
every letter a study in aptness of words, not 
to let it go till it suits the person and the 
theme and the time, is to make sure and 
steady gain in writing. 

















































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TABULAR INDEX 


PAGE 

Introduction ......... i 

Chapter I, How to prepare a speech .... 4 

A . How to set about preparing a speech ... 4 

I. Fixing one point.8 

II. Taking hold ....... 9 

III. Going on.14 

IV; Bringing home.18 

B . What a speech consists of.24 

I. Statement of facts.25 

II. Argument or proof.34 

(a) Test of the bearing of arguments . . 35 

(£) The main ways of arguing ... 38 

C. How to debate.40 

I. Meeting the opportunity .... 41 

II. Challenging assertions of fact ... 42 

III. Exposing weak arguments .... 49 

IV. Keeping one’s temper.50 

V. Strengthening one’s own side ... 52 

Chapter II, How to prepare an essay .... 54 

A. How far an essay is like a speech.... 54 

B. How the principles of a speech apply to an essay . 62 

I. Fixing one point ...... 62 

II. Taking hold.66 

III. Going on.69 

(a) Outline or plan.69 

( \b ) Paragraphs ..71 

(1) The outside of a paragraph : spacing 

for the eye.7 2 

(2) The inside of a paragraph: marking 

stages of thought . . . . 75 

• (3) The paragraph as a single part . 77 

199 







200 


TABULAR INDEX 


PAGE 

(4) The paragraph as a finished and 

adjusted part .... 80 

(5) The paragraph as a connected part 84 

IV. Bringing home.87 

C. How to revise an essay ..... 9 2 

I. Compound sentences and complex sentences . 94 

II. Sentences that make the right word stand out 100 
Chapter III, How to tell a story . . . . .104 

I. Fixing one point.112 

(#) Fixing one main person . . . . 112 

(£) Fixing one main event . . . . 115 

II. Taking hold.118 

III. Going on.I3 2 

(a) Going on in a speech and going on in a 

story.133 

( b ) Going on as the avoidance of interruption 135 

( c) Going on by progressive plan . . 138 

( d ) Going on in a story and going on in a 

drama ...... 142 

Chapter IV, How to describe.162 

A. The two kinds of description . . . .162 

B. The study of description as the study of words . 164 

I. The right word as the precise word . . 165 

(a) The study of precision through translation 167 

(b) The study of precision through memorising 168 

II. The right word as the specific and concrete 


word . . . . . . .169 

(a) Figures of speech . , . . .174 

III. The right word as personal . . . .179 

(a) Sincere expression.179 

( b ) Original expression . . . .182 


IV. The right word as the homely and simple word 190 
V. The right word as the apt word . . .196 








INDEX TO PASSAGES QUOTED 
OR CITED 

(Numbers in parenthesis refer to pages of this book.) 


Genesis 
iii. 19 (171). 
xxi. 14 (172). 
xxvii. 34 (192). 
xliv. (120-131, 136, 138, 
172). 

xlv. (117). 
xlix. 33 (191). 

Exodus 
iii. 8 (181). 
xxv. 9-13 (162). 
Deuteronomy 
xxxii. 11 (163). 

Joshua 
i. 3 (172). 
ix. 21 (173). 

Judges 

vi. (115). 

vii. 1-22 (115). 

viii. (115). 

ix. (114, 117). 

xiv. (115). 

xv. (115). 

xvi. 30 (115, 117). 


Ruth 

i. 8-17 (193). 

1 Samuel. 

xvii. 38, 39 (179). 

2 Samuel 

x. 6 (170). 
xii. 3 (20). 

xviii. (105-110,112,113, II6, 
118, 128-133, 135, 137- 
142, 150, 192). 

1 Kings 

xii. 10, 11 (176). 
xvii. 12 (173). 

2 Kings 

ix. (117, 118). 

1 Chronicles 

xix. 6 (170). 

Esther 

(145-160, 173, 174, 192). 

Job 

xix. 26 (178). 
xxviii. 7-11 (185). 
xxxviii. 8, 9 (191). 
xxxix. 19-25 (176). 


201 



202 


INDEX TO PASSAGES 


Psalms 

xxxviii. 8 (190). 
civ. 10-18 (178, 186, 191). 
Proverbs 

i. 20-33 (65, 67). 

ii. (65). 
viii. (65). 
xxix. 15 (97). 
xxix. 17, 18 (65). 

Ecclesiastes 
xi. I (67). 
xi. 9 (68). 

Isaiah 

vi. 10 (184). 

xliv. 9-20 (71, 91). 

2 Esdras 

iv. 2 (67). 

Wisdom 

xiii-xiv. (56-62, 69-71, 89, 
90, 98). 

Ecclesiasticus 

i. (166). 

Acts 

vii. (21, 22, 32). 

xi. 5-17 (24, 50). 

xiii. 16-41 (27-40, 87). 


xiv. 15 (13). 

xvii. 22-31 (6-14, 16, 17* 
21, 23, 24, 31). 
xxii. I-21 (22). 
xxii. I (10). 
xxii. 30 (48). 
xxiii. 6 (41). 
xxiii. II (48). 
xxiv. 1-21 (44-53)* 
xxiv. 10 (10). 
xxvi. 2-29 (22). 
xxvi. 27 (53). 
xxvi. 29 (19). 
xxviii. 27 (184, 186). 
Romans 

i. 18-32 (71). 

iv. (82). 

v. (82). 

vi. (81, 82). 

vii. (83). 

viii. (82, 83, 102). 

xii. (82). 

I Corinthians 

xiii. (77-80, 84-86, 98, IOO^ 
102, 181). 

Philemon 

097 )* 


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